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diff --git a/old/12509-8.txt b/old/12509-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d522c1e --- /dev/null +++ b/old/12509-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,12130 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Moon Rock, by Arthur J. Rees + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: The Moon Rock + +Author: Arthur J. Rees + +Release Date: June 3, 2004 [eBook #12509] +Most recently updated: July 18, 3012 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: iso-8859-1 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MOON ROCK*** + + +E-text prepared by Suzanne Shell, Barbara Tozier, and Project Gutenberg +Distributed Proofreaders + + + +THE MOON ROCK + +By + +ARTHUR J. REES + +1922 + + + + + + + + "There is no help for all these things are so, + And all the world is bitter as a tear, + And how these things are, though ye strove to show, + _She would not know._" + + --Swinburne + + + + + + + +CHAPTER I + + +The voice of the clergyman intoned the last sad hope of humanity, the +final prayer was said, and the mourners turned away, leaving Mrs. Turold +to take her rest in a bleak Cornish churchyard among strangers, far from +the place of her birth and kindred. + +The fact would not have troubled her if she had known. In life she had +been a nonentity; in death she was not less. At least she could now mix +with her betters without reproach, free (in the all-enveloping silence) +from the fear of betraying her humble origin. Debrett's Peerage was +unimportant in the grave; breaches of social etiquette passed unnoticed +there; the wagging of malicious tongues was stopped by dust. + +Her husband lingered at the grave-side after the others had departed. As +he stood staring into the open grave, regardless of a lurking grave-digger +waiting to fill it, he looked like a man whose part in the drama of life +was Care. There was no hint of happiness in his long narrow face, dull +sunken eyes, and bloodless compressed lips. His expression was not that of +one unable to tear himself away from the last glimpse of a loved wife +fallen from his arms into the clutch of Death. It was the gaze of one +immersed in anxious thought. + +The mourners, who had just left the churchyard, awaited him by a rude +stone cross near the entrance to the church. There were six--four men, a +woman, and a girl. In the road close by stood the motor-car which had +brought them to the churchyard in the wake of the hearse, glistening +incongruously in the grey Cornish setting of moorland and sea. + +The girl stood a little apart from the others. She was the daughter of the +dead woman, but her head was turned away from the churchyard, and her +sorrowful glance dwelt on the distant sea. The contour of her small face +was perfect as a flower or gem, and colourless except for vivid scarlet +lips and dark eyes gleaming beneath delicate dark brows. She was very +young--not more than twenty--but in the soft lines of her beauty there was +a suggestion of character beyond her years. Her face was dreamy and +wayward, and almost gipsy in type. There was something rather +disconcerting in the contrast between her air of inexperienced youth and +the sombre intensity of her dark eyes, which seemed mature and +disillusioned, like those of an older person. The slim lines of her figure +had the lissome development of a girl who spent her days out of doors. + +She stood there motionless, apparently lost in meditation, indifferent to +the bitter wind which was driving across the moors with insistent force. + +"Put this on, Sisily." + +Sisily turned with a start. Her aunt, a large stout woman muffled in heavy +furs, was standing behind her, holding a wrap in her hand. + +"You'll catch your death of cold, child, standing here in this thin +dress," the elder lady continued. "Why didn't you wear your coat? You'd be +warmer sitting in the car. It's really very selfish of Robert, keeping us +all waiting in this dreadful wind!" She shivered, and drew her furs +closer. "Why doesn't he come away? As if it could do any good!" + +As she spoke the tall form of Robert Turold was seen approaching through +the rank grass and mouldering tombstones with a quick stride. He emerged +from the churchyard gate with a stern and moody face. + +"Let us get home," he said, and his words were more of a command than +request. + +He walked across the road to the car with his sister and daughter. The men +by the cross followed. They were his brother, his brother's son, his +sister's husband, and the local doctor, whose name was Ravenshaw. With a +clang and a hoot the car started on the return journey. The winding +cobbled street of the churchtown was soon left behind for a road which +struck across the lonely moors to the sea. Through the moors and stony +hills the car sped until it drew near a solitary house perched on the edge +of the dark cliffs high above the tumbling waters of the yeasty sea which +foamed at their base. + +The car stopped by the gate where the moor road ended. The mourners +alighted and entered the gate. Their approach was observed from within, +for as they neared the house the front door was opened by an elderly +man-servant with a brown and hawk-beaked face. + +Walking rapidly ahead Robert Turold led the way into a front sitting-room +lighted by a window overlooking the sea. There was an air of purpose in +his movements, but an appearance of strain in his careworn face and +twitching lips. He glanced at the others in a preoccupied way, but started +perceptibly as his eye fell upon his daughter. + +"There is no need for you to remain, Sisily," he said in a harsh dry +voice. + +Sisily turned away without speaking. Her cousin Charles jumped up to open +the door, and the two exchanged a glance as she went out. The young man +then returned to his seat near the window. Robert Turold was speaking +emphatically to Dr. Ravenshaw, answering some objection which the doctor +had raised. + +"... No, no, Ravenshaw--I want you to be present. You will oblige me by +remaining. I will go upstairs and get the documents. I shall not keep you +long. Thalassa, serve refreshments." + +He left the room quickly, as though to avoid further argument. The elderly +serving-man busied himself by setting out decanters and glasses, then went +out like one who considered his duty done, leaving the company to wait on +themselves. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +The group in the room sat in silence with an air of stiff expectation. The +members of the family knew they were not assembled to pay respect to the +memory of the woman who had just been buried. Her husband had regarded her +as a drag upon him, and did not consider her removal an occasion for the +display of hypocritical grief. Rather was it to be regarded as an act of +timely intervention on the part of Death, who for once had not acted as +marplot in human affairs. + +They were there to listen to the story of the triumph of the head of the +family, Robert Turold. Most families have some common source of interest +and pride. It may be a famous son, a renowned ancestor, a faded heirloom, +even a musical daughter. The pride of the Turold family rested on the +belief that they were of noble blood--the lineal inheritors of a great +English title which had fallen into abeyance hundreds of years before. + +Robert Turold had not been content to boast of his nobility and die a +commoner like his father and grandfather before him. His intense pride +demanded more than that. As a boy he had pored over the crabbed parchments +in the family deed-box which indicated but did not record the family +descent, and he had vowed to devote his life to prove the descent and +restore the ancient title of Turrald of Missenden to the Turolds of which +he was the head. + +There was not much to go upon when he commenced the labour of thirty +years--merely a few old documents, a family tradition, and the similarity +of name. And the Turolds were poor. Money, and a great deal of it, was +needed for the search, in the first instance, of the unbroken line of +descent, and for the maintenance of the title afterwards if the claim was +completely established. But Robert Turold was not to be deterred by +obstacles, however great. He was a man with a single idea, and such men +are hard to baulk in the long run. + +He left England in early manhood and remained away for some years. His +family understood that he had gone to seek a fortune in the wilds of the +earth. He reappeared--a saturnine silent man--as suddenly as he had gone +away. In his wanderings he had gained a fortune but partly lost the use of +one eye. The partial loss of an eye did not matter much in a country like +England, where most people have two eyes and very little money, and +therefore pay more respect to wealth than vision. + +Robert Turold invested his money, and then set to work upon his great +ambition with the fierce restlessness which characterized all his +proceedings in life. He married shortly after his return. He soon came to +the conclusion that his marriage was a great mistake--the greatest mistake +of his life. His wife had borne him two girls. The first died in infancy, +and some years later Sisily was born. His regrets increased with the birth +of a second daughter. He wanted a son to succeed him in the title--when he +gained it. Time passed, and he became enraged. His anger crushed the timid +woman who shared his strange lot. His dominating temperament and moody +pride were too much for her gentle soul. She became desperately afraid of +him and his stern ways, of that monomania which kept them wandering +through the country searching for links in a [pedigree] which had to be +traced back for hundreds of years before Robert Turold could grasp his +heart's desire. + +When She died in the house on the cliffs where they had come six months +before, Robert Turold had accomplished the task to which his life had been +devoted. Some weeks before he had summoned his brother from London to +disclose his future plans. The brothers had not met for many years, but +Austin was quick to obey when he learnt that a fortune and a title were at +stake. The sister and her husband, Mr. and Mrs. Pendleton, had reached +Cornwall two days before the funeral. They were to take Sisily back to +London with them. It was Robert Turold's intention to part with his +daughter and place her in his sister's charge. For a reason he had not yet +divulged, Sisily was to have no place in his brilliant future. He disliked +his daughter. Her sex was a fatal bar to his regard. He had heaped so many +reproaches on her mother for bringing another girl into the world that the +poor woman had descended to the grave with a confused idea that she was to +blame. + +Sisily had a strange nature, reticent, yet tender. She had loved her +mother passionately, and feared and hated her father because he had +treated his wife so harshly. She had been the witness of it all--from her +earliest childhood to the moment when the unhappy woman had died with her +eyes fixed on her husband's implacable face, but holding fast to her +daughter's hand, as though she wanted to carry the pressure of those +loving fingers into the grave. + +A clock on the mantel-piece ticked loudly. But it was the only sound which +disturbed the quietness of the room. The representatives of the family +eyed one another with guarded indifference. Circumstances had kept them +apart for many years, and they now met almost as strangers. + +Mrs. Pendleton sat on a sofa with her husband. She was a notable outline +of a woman, large and massive, with a shrewd capable face and a +middle-class mind. She lived, when at home, in the rarefied atmosphere of +Golders Green, in a red house with a red-tiled roof, one of a streetful +similarly afflicted, where she kept two maids and had a weekly reception +day. She was childless, but she disdained to carry a pet dog as +compensation for barrenness. Her husband was a meagre shrimp of a +stockbroker under his wife's control, who golfed on Sundays and played +auction bridge at his club twice a week with cyclic regularity. He and his +wife had little in common except the habit of living together, which had +made them acquainted with each other's ways. + +Mrs. Pendleton had not seen either of her brothers for a long time. Robert +had been too engrossed in digging into the past for the skeletons of his +ancestors to do more than write intermittent letters to the living members +of his family, acquainting them with the progress of his search. Austin +Turold, Robert's younger brother, had spent a portion of his life in India +and had but recently returned. He had gone there more than twenty years +before to fill a Government post, taking with him his young wife, but +leaving his son at school in England for some years. His wife had +languished and died beneath an Indian sun, but her husband had become +acclimatized, and remained until his time was up and he was free to return +to England with a pension. His sister and he met on the previous day for +the first time since he had left England for India, and Mrs. Pendleton had +some difficulty in identifying the elderly and testy Anglo-Indian with the +handsome young brother who had bade her farewell so many years before. +And, she had even more difficulty in recognizing the fair-haired little +boy of that time in the good-looking but rather moody-faced young man who +at the present moment was seated near the window, staring out of it. + +The fifth member of the party was Dr. Ravenshaw, who practised in the +churchtown where Mrs. Turold had been buried, and had attended her in her +illness. + +But he had not been asked to share in the family council on that account. +His presence was due to his intimacy with Robert Turold, which had +commenced soon after the latter's arrival in Cornwall. The claimant for a +title had found in the churchtown doctor an antiquarian after his own +heart, whose wide knowledge of Cornish antiquities had assisted in the +discovery of the last piece of evidence necessary to establish his claim. + +Dr. Ravenshaw sat a little apart from the other, a thickset grey figure of +a man, with eyes reddened as though by excessive reading, and usually +protected by glasses, which just then he had removed in order to polish +them with his handkerchief. In age he was sixty or more. His thick grey +beard was mingled with white, and the heavy moustache which drooped over +his mouth was quite white. He presented a common-place figure in his rough +worn tweeds and heavy boots, but he was a man of intelligence in spite of +his unassuming exterior. He lived alone, cared for by a single servant, +and he covered on foot a scattered practice among the fishing population +of that part of the coast. His knowledge of Cornish antiquities and +heraldic lore had won him the confidence of Robert Turold, and his +kindness to Mrs. Turold in her illness had gained him the gratitude of her +daughter Sisily. + +It was Austin Turold who caused a diversion in this group of lay figures +by walking to the table and helping himself to a whisky-and-soda. Austin +bore very little resemblance to his grim and dominant elder brother. He +had a slight frail figure, very carefully dressed, and one of those +thin-lipped faces which seem to wear a perpetual sneer of superiority +over commoner humanity. The movements of his white hands, the inflection +of his voice, the double eyeglass which dangled from his vest by a ribbon +of black silk, revealed the type of human being which considers itself +something rarer and finer than its fellows. The thin face, narrow white +forehead, and high-bridged nose might have belonged to an Oxford don or +fashionable preacher, but, apart from these features, Austin Turold had +nothing in common with such earnest souls. By temperament he was a +dilettante and cynic, who affected not to take life seriously. His axiom +of faith was that a good liver was the one thing in life worth having, and +a far more potent factor in human affairs than conscience. He had at one +time regarded his brother Robert as a fool and visionary, but had seen fit +to change that opinion latterly. + +He paused in the act of raising his glass to his lips, and looked over the +silent company as though seeking a convivial companion. His son was still +staring out of the window. The little stockbroker, seated on the sofa +beside his large wife, made a deprecating movement of his eyebrows, as +though entreating not to be asked. Austin's cold glance roved to Dr. +Ravenshaw. + +"Doctor," he said, "let me give you a whisky-and-soda." + +Doctor Ravenshaw shook his head. "I have a patient to visit before dark," +he said, "a lady. I do not care to carry the smell of spirits into a +sick-room." + +"But this is a special occasion, Ravenshaw," persisted the other. "We do +not restore a title every day." + +"Austin!" The voice of Mrs. Pendleton sounded from the sofa in shocked +protest. + +"What's the matter?" said Austin, pausing in the act of pouring some +whisky into a glass. + +"It would be exceedingly improper to drink a toast at such a moment." + +"What's the matter with the moment?" + +"The day, then. Just when we have buried poor Alice." Mrs. Pendleton had +not seen her brother's wife for ten years before her death, but she had no +difficulty in bringing tears to her eyes at the recollection of her. She +dried her eyes with her handkerchief, and added in a different tone: "I +fancy Robert is coming." + +A heavy step was heard descending the stairs. Austin drained his glass, +and Dr. Ravenshaw adjusted his spectacles as Robert Turold entered the +room. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +With parchments and papers deep on the table before him, Robert Turold +plunged into the history of his life's task. The long hand of the +mantelpiece clock slipped with a stealthy movement past the twelve as he +commenced, as though determined not to be taken by surprise, but to keep +abreast of him. + +An hour passed, but Robert Turold kept steadily on. His hearers displayed +symptoms of boredom like people detained in church beyond the usual time. +Humanity is interested in achievement, but not in the manner of its +accomplishment. And Robert's brother and sister knew much of his story by +heart. It had formed the sole theme of his letters to them for many years +past. Mrs. Pendleton's thoughts wandered to afternoon tea. Her husband +nodded with closed eyes, and recovered himself with convulsive starts. +Austin Turold fixed his glance on the ceiling, where a solitary fly was +cleaning its wings with its legs. From the window Charles Turold presented +an immobile profile. Only Dr. Ravenshaw seemed to listen with an interest +which never flagged. + +Yet it was a story well worth hearing, that record of indomitable +pertinacity which had refused to be baulked by years or rebuffs. Men have +acquired titles more easily. That was apparent as Robert Turold related +the history of his long and patient investigation; of scents which had led +nowhere; of threads which had broken in his hand; of fruitless burrowings +into the graves of past generations. These disappointments had lengthened +the search, but they had never baffled the searcher nor broken his faith. + +The story began in the fourteenth century, when the second Edward had +summoned his trusty retainer Robert Turrald from his quiet home in leafy +Buckinghamshire to sit in Parliament as a baron, and by that act of kingly +grace ennobled him and his heirs forever. Successive holders of the title +were summoned to Parliament in their turn until the reign of the seventh +Henry, when one succeeded whose wife brought him three daughters, but no +sons. At his death the title went into abeyance among this plurality of +girls. In peerage law they were his coheirs, and the inheritance could not +descend because not one of them had an exclusive right to it. The +daughters entered a convent and followed their parents to the grave within +a few years, the Crown resumed the estate, and the title had remained in +abeyance ever since. + +But the last Lord Turrald had a brother Simon, a roystering blade and +lawless adventurer, who disappeared some years before his elder brother's +death. Little was known of him except that he was supposed to have closed +a brawling career on the field of Bosworth, when Richard the Crookback was +killed and the short-lived dynasty of York ended. + +The Turolds' family deed-box told a different story. There was a +manuscript in monkish hand, setting forth, "in the name of God, Amen," the +secret history of Simon, as divulged by him on his deathbed for the +information of his two sons. In this confession he claimed kinship with +the last Lord Turrald of Great Missenden. But he had not dared to claim +the title and rich estates on his brother's death, because he was a +proscribed man. He had been a Yorkist, and had fought for Richard. That +might have been forgiven him if he had not unhorsed his future king at +Bosworth and almost succeeded in slaughtering him with his own reckless +hands. So he had fled, and had remained in obscurity and a safe +hiding-place after his brother's death, preferring his head without a +title to a title without a head. + +On this document, unsigned and undated, with nothing to indicate the place +of its origin, the Turold family based its claim of descent from the +baronial Turralds of Great Missenden. But the Turold history was a +chequered one. Their branch was nomadic, without territorial ties or +wealth, without continuance of chronology. They could not trace their own +genealogy back for two hundred years. There was a great gap of missing +generations which had never been filled in. It was not even known how the +document had come into their possession. Simon's two sons and their +descendants had vanished into unknown graves, leaving no trace. But the +family clung fast to their belief that they were the lineal descendants of +the Turralds of Buckinghamshire. + +It had remained for Robert Turold to prove it. His father and grandfather +had bragged of it, had fabricated family trees over their cups, and glowed +with pride over their noble blood, but had let it go at that. Robert was a +man of different mould. In his hands, the slender supposition had been +turned into certainty. By immense labour and research he built a bridge +from the first Turold of whom any record existed, backwards across the +dark gap of the past. He traced the wanderings of his ancestors through +different generations and different counties to Robert Turold, who +established himself in Suffolk forty years after the last Lord Turrald was +laid to rest in his family vault in the village church of Great Missenden. + +The construction of this portion of his family tree occupied Robert Turold +for ten years. There were scattered records to be collected, forgotten +wills to be sought in county offices, parochial registers to be searched +for births and deaths. A nomadic family has no traditions; Robert Turold +had to trace his back to the darkness of the Middle Ages. It was a notable +feat to trace the wanderings of an obscure family back so far as he did, +but even then he seemed as far away from the attainment of his desire as +ever. There remained a gap of forty years. To establish his claim to the +title he had to prove that the Turolds sprang from the younger brother of +the last Lord Turrald, who had allowed the title to lapse for fear of +losing his head if he came forward to claim it. + +It did not seem a great gap to bridge after following a wandering scent +through four centuries, but the paltry forty years almost beat Robert +Turold, and cost him five years additional search. It was a lucky chance, +no more, which finally led him to Cornwall, but it was the hand of +Providence (he said so) which directed his footsteps to the churchtown in +which Dr. Ravenshaw lived. It was there he discovered the connecting link +in the signature of a single witness on a noble charter which granted to +the monks of St. Nicholas "all wreck of sea which might happen in the +Scilly Isles except whales." To the eye of Robert Turold's faith the +illegible scrawl on this faded scroll formed the magic name of Simon +Turrald. + +For once, faith was justified by its works. The signature was indeed Simon +Turrald's; not the younger brother of the last Lord Turrald, but Simon's +son. + +Bit by bit, Robert Turold succeeded in fitting together the last pieces of +the puzzle which had eluded him for so long. Simon Turrald, the brother, +had fled to Cornwall, where he had married a Cornishwoman who had brought +him two sons. The elder, Simon, had taken religious vows, and established +a priory at St. Fair, a branch of the great priory of St. Germain. The +holy fathers of the order had long since vanished from this earth to reap +the reward of their goodness (it is to be hoped) in another world, but the +remains of the priory still stood on a barren headland near Cape Cornwall. +And there was a tomb in St. Fair church, behind the altar, marked by a +blue slab, with an indent formerly filled by a recumbent figure. On the +blue slab was a partly obliterated inscription in monkish Latin, which +yielded its secret to him, and divulged that the remains beneath were +those of Father Simon of St. Fair. + +With this important discovery to help him, Robert Turold had very little +difficulty in completing the particulars of the family genealogy. Further +search of the churchtown records brought to light that Simon's other son, +Robert, left Cornwall as a young man, and after some years of wandering +had settled in Suffolk. Father Simon, of course, died without family, but +Robert married, the family name came to be spelt "Turold," and thus was +founded that branch of the family of which the last Robert Turold was now +the head. The family tree was complete. + +Such was the substance of Robert Turold's life quest, and the story had +occupied two hours in telling. + +"I have petitioned the King's most excellent majesty to terminate the +abeyance in my favour and declare that I am entitled to the peerage," he +concluded. "I have no doubt that my claim will be admitted. I have set out +the facts with great care, and in considerable detail. I have traced a +clear line of descent back to Simon Turrald, younger brother of the last +baron, and there are no coheirs in existence. Ours is the last surviving +branch, or it would, perhaps, be better if I said that Austin and myself, +and Austin's son, are the only male members of the family. It is a +difficult matter to give effectual proof of a long pedigree, but my lawyer +has not the least doubt that the House of Lords will admit the validity of +my claim, and will terminate the abeyance in my favour. The Attorney +General has inspected my proofs, and I am to appear before the Committee +for Privileges next week. In a few weeks at the outside, allowing for the +worst of law's delays, I shall be Lord Turrald." + +Robert Turold's whole bearing was transfigured as he made this +announcement. His sound eye gleamed, his shrunken form seemed to expand +and fill, and his harsh sallow features took on an expression which was +almost ecstatic. It was his great moment, the moment for which he had +lived for twenty years, and it compensated him for all his worry, delayed +expectation, fruitless labour, and the bitter taste of the waters of +despair. + +"I shall be Turrald of Great Missenden," he said, and again the expression +of his face showed what the words meant to him. + +"Bob! So you've actually succeeded after all!" Mrs. Pendleton stepped +quickly across to her brother as he sat regarding his audience from behind +his pile of documents. It was like a sister, at that moment, to slip back +to the juvenile name and kiss his elderly face with tears in her eyes. +Robert Turold received the caress unmoved, and she went back to the sofa. + +"Lord Turrald! It sounds well," murmured her husband, whose ideas were +sufficiently democratic to give him a sneaking admiration for a title. He +gazed at his brother-in-law with a new respect, discerning unsuspected +indications of noble blood in his grim visage. + +"How do you account for the two forms of spelling your family name?" +observed Dr. Ravenshaw. "The House of Lords will require proof on that +point, will they not?" + +"I shall be able to satisfy them," returned Robert Turold. "The first +Robert Turold reverted to the Norman spelling when he settled in Suffolk. +Turrald is the corrupted form, doubtless due to early Saxon difficulties +with Norman names. The Saxons were never very glib at Norman-French, and +there was no standardized spelling of family names at that period." + +"It would be interesting to know how the name of Simon came to be bestowed +upon the Simon Turrald who fled to Cornwall after Bosworth. The name is +Biblical--not Norman. The Normans were pagan, worshipping Woden and Thor, +though supposed to be Christianized after Charles the Simple ceded +Neustria to Rollo." + +"Simon was a good mediaeval name in France and was fairly common in +England from the twelfth century until after the Reformation. It was +Norman, as being that of an apostle, and was never popular among the +Puritans." + +"It seems a pity that you cannot claim the Turrald estates," put in +Austin. "They must have been immensely wealthy." + +"It is quite out of the question," replied Robert decisively. "They have +been alienated for centuries. But it has been part of my life's work to +provide for the upkeep of the title when I gained it. I shall be able to +ensure my heirs an income of nearly eight thousand pounds a year." + +It was Mrs. Pendleton's first intimation of the amount of the fortune her +brother had gained abroad. "Eight thousand a year!" she exclaimed. "Oh, +Robert, it is wealth." + +"One could live very comfortably on eight thousand a year," remarked her +husband, "very comfortably indeed." + +"It's not much to support a title, after the tax-gatherers have taken +their pound of flesh in income tax and super-tax," said Austin. "Robert, +with his iron frame, will probably outlive a weakling like myself, but if +he doesn't I'm sure I shall find it difficult to keep up the title on the +money." + +"One word!" said Dr. Ravenshaw, with a quick glance at Robert Turold. +"This is a barony by writ that you are claiming. Does not your daughter +succeed you if you gain it, and not your brother?" + +"No," replied Robert Turold. "The next holder of the title, after me, will +be my brother, and his son will succeed him." + +Little Mr. Pendleton looked questioningly at his brother-in-law. + +"A similar question was on my lips," he said hesitatingly. "I know very +little of such matters, but in view of our family's probable entry into +the ranks of the old nobility I have deemed it my duty to make myself +acquainted, to some extent, with the history of the Turrald title and +peerage law. It seems a very complicated business--peerage law, I mean--in +the case of baronies by writ, but I certainly gathered the impression that +a sole daughter can succeed, although several daughters are regarded as +coheirs." + +"My daughter cannot succeed to the Turrald title," rejoined Robert Turold. +The words seemed to be wrung out of him reluctantly. + +"It is not for me to question your knowledge--your great knowledge--of +English peerage law, Robert," pursued Mr. Pendleton with a kind of timid +persistence. "But I brought a book down with me in the train in which I +remember reading that the right of a single daughter to succeed to a +barony by writ had been well established by the Clifton case and several +others. I am not precisely aware what the Clifton case is, but I've no +doubt that you are well versed in the particulars of it. As you have no +son your daughter has priority of claim over your brother and his son. +From what you say I can see that I must be quite wrong, but I'd be glad if +you would explain to me." + +"You have stated the law accurately enough," said Robert Turold, "but my +daughter does not succeed to the title." + +"Why not?" + +Embarrassment, perceptible as a cloud, deepened on Robert Turold's face. +He regained his self-control with an effort. + +"There was an informality in my marriage," said he at last. "My daughter's +birth was irregular." + +"Do you mean that she is illegitimate?" asked Dr. Ravenshaw. + +Robert Turold inclined his head. "Yes," he said. + +At this admission his sister bounced from the sofa with a startled cry. +"So that was why there was no name plate on the coffin," she exclaimed. +"Oh, Robert, what a terrible thing--what a disgrace!" + +"Spare me your protests until you have heard the explanation," Robert +coldly rejoined. "She"--he pointed a hand in the direction of the +churchyard--"was married before she met me. She kept the fact from me. It +was apparently a secret passage in her life. During our long association +together she gave no hint of it. She confessed the truth on her deathbed. +In justice to her memory let me say that she believed her husband dead." + +Robert Turold told this with unmoved face in barest outline--etched in +dry-point, as it were--leaving his hearers to fill in the picture of the +unhappy woman who had gone through life tormented by the twin demons of +conscience and fear, which had overtaken her and brought her down before +she could reach the safe shelter of the grave. + +Mrs. Pendleton, whose robust mind had scant patience with the policy of +cowardice which dictates death-bed confessions, regretted that Alice, +having remained silent so long, had not kept silence altogether. + +"You do not intend to make this scandal public, Robert?" she said +anxiously. + +"I am compelled to do so," was the gloomy response. + +"Is it necessary?" she pleaded. "Cannot the story be kept quiet--if not +for Alice's sake, at least for Sisily's? You must consider her above all +things. She is your daughter, your only child." + +"I agree with Aunt," said Charles Turold. He rose from the window-seat and +approached the table. "Sisily must be your first consideration," he said, +looking at Robert Turold. + +"This has nothing to do with you, Charles," interposed Austin hastily. + +"I think it has," said his son. "You told me nothing about this, you +know." + +"I was not aware of it myself," replied his father. + +"Now that I know, I shall have nothing further to do with this," continued +the young man. "I'm not going to help you wrong Sisily." + +"I hardly expected such lofty moral sentiments from you," said Austin, +with a dark glance. + +His son flushed as though there was a hidden sting behind the jibe. He +appeared to be about to say something more, but checked himself, and went +back to his seat by the window. + +"Is there no way of keeping this matter quiet, Robert?" said his sister +imploringly. + +"I see none," was the rejoinder. "It is a very painful disclosure, but I +think it is inevitable. Do you not agree with me, Austin?" + +"Do not ask my opinion," his brother coldly replied. "It is for you to +decide." + +Robert Turold paused irresolutely. "What do you say, Ravenshaw?" he said, +glancing round at the silent figure of the doctor. "I asked you to be +present this afternoon to have the benefit of your advice. I owe much to +you, so I beg you to speak freely." + +"Since you have asked my advice," said Dr. Ravenshaw gravely, "I say that +I entirely agree with Mrs. Pendleton. Your first duty is to Sisily. She +should out-weigh all other considerations. If you make her illegitimacy +public you may live to be sorry for having done so." + +Mrs. Pendleton cast a moist, grateful glance at the speaker, but Austin +Turold turned on him a look of cold hostility. + +Robert Turold sat brooding for a few moments in silence. He had asked +advice, but his own mind was made up. The humane views of his sister and +Dr. Ravenshaw were powerless to affect his decision. The monstrous growth +of his single purpose had long since strangled such transient plants as +human affection and feeling in his heart and mind. + +"The facts must be made public," he said inexorably. "The honour of a +noble family is in my hands, and I must do my duty. It would be an insult +to my Sovereign and my peers, and a grievous wrong to our family, if I +concealed any portion of the truth. I shall make adequate provision for +Sisily. You will not refuse to take charge of her, Constance, because of +this disclosure?" + +"You ought to know me better than that, Robert. She'll need somebody to +take care of her, poor child! But who is to tell her the truth? For I +suppose she must be told?" + +"I want you to tell her," said Robert Turold. "Choose your time. There is +no immediate hurry, but she must be in no false hopes about the future. +She had better be told before the Investigations Committee meets." + +"Bother the Investigations Committee!" exclaimed Mrs. Pendleton. "Really, +Robert--" + +Mrs. Pendleton broke off abruptly, in something like dismay. She had a +fleeting impression of a pair of eyes encountering her own through a crack +in the doorway, and as swiftly withdrawn. She walked quickly to the door +and flung it open. There was nobody outside, and the passage was empty. + +"We have been talking family secrets with the door open," she said, +returning to her seat. "I thought I saw one of the servants +eavesdropping." + +"My servants would not listen at doors," said Robert Turold coldly. "You +must have imagined it." + +Mrs. Pendleton made no rejoinder. She had a strong belief that someone had +been watching and listening, but she could not be sure. + +"We must really be going," she announced, with a glance at the clock. +"Joseph"--such was her husband's name--"you had better go and see if the +car is ready, and I will go for Sisily. Is she upstairs in her room, +Robert?" + +"I believe so," said Robert Turold, bending abstractedly over his papers. +"But you had better ask Thalassa. He'll tell you. Thalassa will know." + +Mrs. Pendleton looked angrily at him, but was wise enough to forbear from +further speech. She instinctively realized that her brother was beyond +argument or reproof. + +She went upstairs to look for her niece, but she was not in her room. She +came downstairs again and proceeded to the kitchen. Through the half-open +door she saw the elderly male servant, and she entered briskly. + +"Can you tell me where Miss Sisily is, Thalassa?" she asked. + +"Miss Sisily is out on the cliffs." Thalassa, busy chopping suet with a +knife, made answer without looking up. There was something absurdly +incongruous between the mild domestic occupation and the grim warrior face +bent over it. + +"When did she go out?" asked Mrs. Pendleton, struck by a sudden thought. + +Thalassa threw a swift sidelong glance at her. "It might be an hour ago," +he said. + +"Do you know where I am likely to find her?" + +Thalassa pointed vaguely through an open window. + +"Somewhere along there," he said. "Miss Sisily is fond of the cliffs. If +you're going to look for her you'd best not go round by the back of the +house, or you'll fall over, like as not. It's a savage spot, only fit for +savages--or madmen." He turned his back and bent over his chopping board +again. + +Mrs. Pendleton turned away in perplexity, and walked up the passage to the +front door. There her eye fell on the figure of Charles Turold, lounging +moodily over the gate, smoking a cigarette. + +She walked down the flinty path and touched his arm. "Would you mind going +and looking for Sisily?" she said. "She is out on the cliffs, Thalassa +says." She pointed a hand in the direction she supposed the girl to be. + +The young man's moodiness vanished in eager alacrity. "Certainly," he +replied. "I'll go with pleasure." He tossed away his cigarette and +disappeared around the side of the house. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +Sisily first opened her eyes on a grey day by a grim coast, and life had +always been grim and grey to her. Her memory was a blurred record of +wanderings from place to place in pursuit of something which was never to +be found. Her earliest recollection was of a bleak eastern coast, where +Robert Turold had spent long years in a losing game of patience with the +sea. He had gone there in the belief that some of his ancestors were +buried in a forgotten churchyard on the cliffs, and he spent his time +attempting to decipher inscriptions which had been obliterated almost as +effectually as the dead whose remains they extolled. + +The old churchyard had been called "The Garden of Rest" by some +sentimental versifier, but there was no rest for the dead who tried to +sleep within its broken walls. The sea kept undermining the crumbling +cliffs upon which it stood, carrying away earth, and tombstones, and +bones. Nor was it a garden. Nothing grew in the dank air but crawling +things which were horrible to the eye. There were great rank growths of +toadstools, yellow, blue, livid white, or spotted like adders, which +squirmed and squelched underfoot to send up a sickly odour of decay. The +only green thing was some ivy, a parasitic vampire which drew its +lifeblood from the mouldering corpse of an old church. + +It was in this desolate place that the girl conceived her first impression +of her father as a stern and silent man who burrowed among old graves like +a mole. Robert Turold had fought a stout battle for the secret contained +in those forgotten graves on a bleak headland, but the sea had beaten him +in the long run, carrying off the stones piecemeal until only one +remained, a sturdy pillar of granite which marked the bones of one who, +some hundred and fifty years before had been "An English Gentleman and a +Christian"--so much of the epitaph remained. Robert Turold hoped that it +was an ancestor, but he was not destined to know. One night the stone was +carried off with a great splash which was heard far, and left a ragged gap +in the cliffside, like a tooth plucked from a giant's mouth. + +When Sisily first saw the cliffs of Cornwall she was reminded of those +early days, with the difference that the Cornish granite rocks stood firm, +as though saying to the sea, "Here rises England." + +The house Robert Turold had taken looked down on the sea from the summit. +It was a strange place to build a house, on the brink of a broken Cornish +cliffline, above the grey surges of the Atlantic, among a wilderness of +dark rocks, facing black moors, which rolled away from the cliffs as +lonely and desolate as eternity. The place had been built by a London +artist, long since dead, who had lived there and painted seascapes from an +upstairs studio which overlooked the sea. + +The house had remained empty for years until Robert Turold had taken it +six months before. It was too isolated and lonely to gain a permanent +tenant, and it stood in the teeth of Atlantic gales. The few scattered +houses and farms of the moors cringed from the wind in sheltered +depressions, but Flint House faced its everlasting fury on the top of the +cliffs, a rugged edifice of grey stone, a landmark visible for many miles. + +The house suited Robert Turold well enough, because it was near the +churchtown in which he was conducting his final investigations. It never +occurred to him to consider whether it suited his wife and daughter. It +was a house, and it was furnished; what more was necessary? It was nothing +to him if his wife and daughter were unhappy. It was nothing to him if the +sea roared and the house shook as he sat poring at nights over his +parchments in the dead artist's studio. He had other things to occupy his +mind than Nature's brutality or the feelings of womanhood. + +Sisily had climbed down to the foot of the rocks. She was sitting in her +favourite spot, a spur of rock overhanging a green nook in the broken +ugliness of the cliffs, sheltered from the sea by an encircling arm of +rock, and reached by a steep path down the cliff. Around her towered an +amphitheatre of vast cliffs in which the sea sang loud music to the spirit +of solitude. In the moaning waters in front of the cove a jagged rock rose +from the incomparable green, tilted backward and fantastically shaped, +like a great grave face watching the house on the summit of the cliff. + +The rock had fascinated the girl from the first moment she had seen it. In +the summer months, tourists came from afar to gaze on its fancied +resemblance to one of the illustrious dead. But to Sisily there was a +secret brooding consciousness in the dark mask. It seemed to her to be +watching and waiting for something. For what? Its glance seemed to follow +her like the eyes of a picture. And it conveyed a menace by its mere +proximity, even when she could not see it. When she looked out of her +window at night, and saw only the shadow of the rock with the face veiled +in darkness, she seemed to hear the whisper of its words: "I am here. Do +not think to escape. I will have you yet." + +Among the fisher-folk of that part of the coast it was known as the Moon +Rock. The old Cornish women had a tradition that when a fishing-boat +failed to return to that bay of storms, the spirit of the drowned man +would rise to the surface and answer his wife if she hailed him from the +shore. It was a rite and solemn ceremony, now fallen into decay. There was +a story of one young wife who, getting no answer, left her desolate +cottage at midnight and swam out to the Moon Rock at high tide. She had +scrambled up its slippery sides and called her husband from the summit. +She had called and called his name until he came. In the morning they were +found--the wife, and the husband who had been called from the depth of the +sea, floating together in one of the sea caverns at the base of the Moon +Rock, their white faces tangled in the red seaweed which streaked the +green surging water like blood. + +Sisily knew this story, and believed it to be true. Sometimes, when the +moon lingered on the black glistening surface of the Moon Rock, she +fancied she could see a misty fluttering figure on the rock, and hear it +calling ... calling. She would sit motionless at her window, straining her +ears for the reply. After a time the response would come faintly from the +sea, at first far out, then sounding louder and clearer as the spirit of +the husband guided his drowned body back to his wife's arms. When it +sounded close to the rock the evanescent figure on the summit would vanish +to join the spirit of her husband in the churning waters at the base. Then +the face of the Moon Rock seemed to smile, and the smile was so cruel that +Sisily would turn from the window with a shudder, covering her face with +her hands. + +Her strange upbringing may have contributed to such morbid fancies. In his +monstrous preoccupation with a single idea Robert Turold had neglected his +duty to his daughter. She counted for nothing in his scheme of life, and +there were periods when he seemed to be unconscious of her existence. She +had been allowed to grow up with very little education or training. She +had passed her childhood and girlhood in remote parts of England, without +companions, and nobody to talk to except her mother and Thalassa, who +accompanied the family everywhere. She loved her mother, but her love was +embittered by her helplessness to mitigate her mother's unhappy lot. +Thalassa was a savage old pagan whose habitual watchful secretiveness +relaxed into roaring melody in his occasional cups; in neither aspect +could he be considered a suitable companion for the budding mind of a +girl, but he loomed in her thoughts as a figure of greater import than her +father or mother. Her father was a gloomy recluse, her mother was crushed +and broken in spirit. Thalassa had been the practical head of the house +ever since Sisily could remember anything, an autocrat who managed the +domestic economy of their strange household in his own way, and brooked no +interference. "Ask Thalassa--Thalassa will know," was Robert Turold's +unvarying formula when anybody attempted to fix upon him his +responsibility as head of the house. Sometimes Sisily was under the +impression that her father for some reason or other, feared Thalassa. She +could recall a chance collision, witnessed unseen, through a half-open +door. There had been loud voices, and she had seen a fiery threatening +eye--Thalassa's--and her; father's moody averted face. + +From a child she had developed in her own way, as wild and wayward as the +gulls which swooped around the rocks where she was sitting. Nature +revealed her heart to her in long solitary walks by sea and fen. But of +the world of men and women Sisily knew nothing whatever. The secrets of +the huddle of civilization are not to be gathered from books or solitude. +Sisily was completely unsophisticated in the ways of the world, and her +deep passionate temperament was full of latent capacity for good or evil, +for her soul's salvation or shipwreck. Because of her upbringing and +temperament she was not the girl to count the cost in anything she did. +She was a being of impulse who had never learnt restraint, who would act +first and think afterwards. + +Her dislike of her father was instinctive, almost impersonal, being based, +indeed, on his treatment of her mother rather than on any resentment of +his neglect of herself. But Robert Turold had never been able to +intimidate his daughter or tame her fearless spirit. She had inherited too +much of his own nature for that. + +At that moment she was sitting motionless, immersed in thought, her chin +on her hand, looking across the water to the horizon, where the Scilly +Islands shimmered and disappeared in a grey, melting mist. She did not +hear the sound of Charles Turold's footsteps, descending the cliff path in +search of her. + +The young man stood still for a moment admiring her exquisite features in +their soft contour and delicate colouring. He pictured her to himself as a +white wildflower in a grey wilderness. He could not see himself as an +exotic growth in that rugged setting--a rather dandified young man in a +well-cut suit, with an expression at once restless and bored on his +good-looking face. + +He scrambled down the last few slippery yards of the path and had almost +reached her side before she saw him. + +"I have been sent for you," he explained. "I knew I should find you here." + +She got up immediately from the rock where she had been sitting, and they +stood for a moment in silence. She thought by his look that he had +something to say to her, but as he did not speak she commenced the ascent +of the stiff cliff path. He started after her, but the climb took all his +attention, and she was soon far ahead. When he reached the top she was +standing near the edge looking around her. + +"This is my last look," she said as he reached her side. Her hand +indicated the line of savage cliffs, the tossing sea, the screaming birds, +the moors beyond the rocks. + +"Perhaps you will come back here again some day," he replied. + +She made no answer. He drew closer, so close that she shrank back and +turned away. + +"I must go now," she hurriedly said. + +"Stay, Sisily," he said. "I want to speak to you. It may be the final +opportunity--the last time we shall be alone together here." + +She hesitated, walking with slower steps and then stopping. As he did not +speak she broke the silence in a low tone-- + +"What do you wish to say to me?" + +"Are you sorry you are leaving Cornwall?" he hesitatingly began. + +She made a slight indifferent gesture. "Yes, but it does not matter. +Mother is dead, and my father does not care for me." She flushed a deep +red and hastily added, "No one will miss me. I am so alone." + +"You are not alone!" he impetuously exclaimed--"I love you, Sisily--that +is what I wished to say. I came here to tell you." + +He caught a swift fleeting glance from her dark eyes, immediately veiled. + +"Do you really mean what you say?" she replied, a little unsteadily. + +"Yes, Sisily. I have loved you ever since I first met you," he replied. +"And, since then, I have loved you more and more." + +"Oh, why have you told me this now?" she exclaimed. "You think I am +lonely, and you are sorry for me. I cannot stay longer. Aunt will be +waiting for me." + +He sprang before her in the narrow path. + +"You must hear what I have to say before you go," he said curtly. "We are +not likely to meet again for some time if we part now. I intend to leave +England." + +She looked at him at those words, but he was at a loss to divine the +meaning of the look. + +"You are leaving England?" A quick ear would have caught a strange note in +her soft voice. "Oh, but you cannot--you have responsibilities." + +"Are you thinking of the title, and your father's money?" he observed, +glancing at her curiously. "What do you know about it, Sisily?" + +"I have heard of nothing but the title ever since I can remember," she +replied. + +"I learnt for the first time this afternoon that I was brought down here +to rob you," he said gloomily. + +"I am glad for your sake if you are to have it--the money," she simply +replied. + +He answered with a bitter, almost vengeful aspect. + +"I would not take the money or the title, if they ever came to me. They +should be yours. I will show them. I will let them know that they cannot +do what they like with me." He brought out this obscure threat in a savage +voice. "If I had only known--if I had guessed that your father--" He +ceased abruptly, with a covert glance, like one fearing he had said too +much. + +She kept her eyes fixed on the lengthening shadows around the rocks. + +"Do not take it so much to heart," she timidly counselled. "It is nothing +to me--the title or the money. They made my mother's life a misery. My +father was always cruel to her because of them, I do not know why. It is +in his nature to be cruel, I think. He has a heart of granite, like these +rocks. I hate him!" She brought out the last words in a sudden burst of +passion which startled him. + +"What nonsense it all is!" he exclaimed, suddenly changing his tone. "All +this talk about a title which may never be revived. Let them have it +between them, and the money too. Sisily, I love you, dear, love you better +than all the titles and money in the world. I am not worthy of you, but I +will try to be. Let us go Sway and start life ... just our two selves." + +"I cannot." She stood in front of him with downcast gaze, and then raised +her eyes to his. + +Had he been as experienced in the ways of her sex as he believed himself +to be, he would have read more in her elusive glance than her words. + +"You may be sorry if you do not," he said, with a sudden access of male +brutality. "There are reasons--reasons I cannot explain to you--" + +"Even if there are I cannot do what you ask," she replied. Her face was +still averted, but her voice was steady. + +"Then do you want to go with Aunt to London?" he persisted, trying to +catch a glimpse of her hidden face. + +She shook her head. + +"Or to stay with your father?" + +"No!" There was a strange intense note in the brief word. + +"Then come with me, Sisily. I love you more than all the world. We have +nobody to please except our two selves." + +"You have your duty to your father to consider." + +"Let us leave him out of the question," said the young man hurriedly. "He +is as selfish and heartless as--his brother. I tell you again, I'll have +nothing to do with this title or your father's money. I will make my own +way with you by my side. I have a friend in London who would be only too +glad to receive you until we could be married. You are leaving your home +to-night, and you are as free as air to choose. Will you come?" + +"Of course," he began again, in a different tone, as she still kept +silent, "it may be that I have misunderstood. I thought that you had +learnt to care for me. But if you dislike me--" + +"Do not say that," she replied, turning a deeply wounded face towards him. +"It is not that--do not think so. You have been kind and good to me, and +I--I shall never forget you. But I--I have a contempt for myself." + +"I have a contempt for myself also after this afternoon," he retorted. +"Come, Sisily--" + +"No, it is impossible. Hark, what was that?" The girl spoke with a sudden +uplifting of her head. Above them, from the direction of the house, the +sound of a voice was heard. + +"It is Aunt calling me," she said, "I must go. Good-bye." + +"Is it good-bye, then?" + +"It must be. But I shall often think of you." + +He had the unforgettable sensation of two soft burning lips touching the +hand which hung at his side, and turned swiftly--but too late. She was +speeding along the rocky pathway which led to the house. + +"Wait, Sisily!" he cried. + +A seabird's mournful cry was the only answer. He glanced irresolutely +towards the path, and then retraced his steps towards the edge of the +cliffs. + +A cold sun dipped suddenly, as though pulled down by a stealthy invisible +hand. The twilight deepened, and in the lengthening shadows the rocks +assumed crouching menacing shapes which seemed to watch the solitary +figure standing near the edge, lost in thought. + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +Through the flowers on the hotel dining-table Mrs. Pendleton was able to +watch her niece unnoticed, because the flowers occupied such an +unreasonably large space on the little round table set for three. Besides, +Sisily had been engrossed in her own thoughts throughout the meal. Mrs. +Pendleton was disturbed by her quietness. There was something unnatural +about it--something not girlish. She had not spoken once during the drive +from Flint House to Penzance, and she sat through dinner with a still +white face, silent, and hardly eating anything. + +Mrs. Pendleton supposed Sisily was fretting over her mother, but she did +not understand a girl whose grief took the form of silence and stillness. +She would have preferred a niece who would have sobbed out her grief on +her shoulder, been reasonably comforted, and eaten a good dinner +afterwards. But Sisily was not that kind of girl. She was strange and +unapproachable. There was something almost repellent in her reserve, +something in her dark preoccupied gaze which made Mrs. Pendleton feel +quite nervous, and unfeignedly relieved when Sisily had asked to be +allowed to go to her room immediately the meal was concluded. + +As she sat at the table, reviewing the events of the afternoon, after the +girl had taken her departure, Mrs. Pendleton regretted that she had +consented to take charge of Sisily. She flattered herself that she was +sufficiently modern not to care a row of pins for the stigma on the girl's +birth, but there were awkward circumstances, and not the least of them was +her own rash promise to break the news to Sisily that she was +illegitimate. That disclosure was not likely to help their future +relations together. Mrs. Pendleton reflected that she knew very little +about her niece, whom she had not seen since she was a small girl, but the +recollection of her set face and tragic eyes at the dinner table impelled +prompt recognition of the fact that she was going to be difficult to +manage. + +But there was more than that. With a feeling of dismay Mrs. Pendleton's +mind awoke to a belated realization of the scandal which would fasten on +Sisily and her birth if Robert succeeded in establishing his claim to the +title. A peer of the realm with an illegitimate, disinherited daughter! +The story would be pounced upon by a sensational press, avid for precisely +such topics. In imagination Mrs. Pendleton saw the flaming headlines, the +photographs, and the highly spiced reports in which every detail of her +brother's private life was laid bare for a million curious eyes. + +Such an exposure was too terrible to be faced. Mrs. Pendleton saw her own +comfortable life affected by it; saw her position in her small social +circle shaken and overwhelmed by the clamour of notoriety. She saw herself +the focus of the malicious tea-table gossip of all her friends. Decidedly, +it would not do. + +She did her brother the justice to realize that he had overlooked the +public effect of the disclosure of his painful domestic secret as +completely as she had. He had forgotten that his accession to the peerage +would make him, as it were, a public figure, and the glamour which the +newspapers would throw over his lifelong quest would invest every act of +his life with a publicity from which he could not hope to escape. If he +had foreseen this, he would have made some other arrangement for his +daughter's future, not for the girl's sake, but for the honour of the +famous old name of which he was so fanatically proud. + +The question remained, what was to be done? Robert would have to be told, +of course. Mrs. Pendleton's first impulse was to retract her promise to +take charge of Sisily, and wash her hands of the whole affair. Then she +thought of the money, and wavered. Robert had made her a generous offer, +and the money would have helped so much! She had already planned the +spending of the cheque he had given her that afternoon. She had thought of +a new suite of drawing-room furniture, and bedroom carpets. She had a +vision of a small motor-car, later on. + +As she pondered over the situation she thought she saw a way out--a way so +simple and practical that she was astonished that it had not occurred to +her before. + +Mrs. Pendleton was a woman of decision and prompt of action when she made +up her mind. Her mind was made up now. She glanced across the table at her +husband. "Joseph!" she said. + +Mr. Pendleton, hidden behind the sheets of a newspaper just arrived from +London, had the temerity not to hear. He was in a grumpy mood, arising, in +the first instance, from having been dragged away from his business and +his club to Cornwall. It was nothing to him that he was in the Land of +Lyonesse. His brief impression of the Duchy was that it was all rocks, and +that Penzance was a dull town without a proper seafront, swarming with +rascally shopkeepers who tried to sell serpentine match-boxes at the price +of gold ones, and provided with hotels where dull tourists submitted to a +daily diet of Cornish pasties and pollock under the delusion that they +were taking in local colour in the process. Mr. Pendleton's stomach +resented his own rash deglutition of these dainties, and in consequence he +was suffering too much with acute indigestion to think of the compensation +he would gain at next year's Academy by standing with a bragging knowing +air before pictures of the Cornish coast, expatiating to his bored +acquaintances (who had never been to Cornwall) on their lack of merit +compared with the real thing. Like most husbands, Mr. Pendleton had been +able to reach the conclusion that the real cause of his bodily and mental +discomfort was his wife, so he maintained a sulky silence behind the pages +of his newspaper. + +With that lack of ceremony which the familiarity of marriage engenders in +the female breast, his wife leant across the table and plucked the paper +from his hand. + +"Listen to me, Joseph," she said, "I want to talk to you." + +Lacking the newspaper screen, Mr. Pendleton's rebellious tendencies +instantly evaporated beneath his wife's searching eye. + +"Yes, my dear," he replied meekly. "What about?" + +"About Sisily. Did you notice that she did not speak a word during +dinner?" + +"Perhaps she was overcome with grief, my dear." + +"Nonsense! Grief does not make a woman speechless. She's one of the dumb +sort of girls. I always mistrust a girl who hasn't plenty to say for +herself." + +"Well, you know, my dear, she has had a strange sort of life. She hasn't +had the educational advantages of other young women"--Mr. Pendleton was +going to add "in her station of life," but a timely recollection of the +afternoon's disclosures caused him to substitute: "with wealthy fathers." + +"Robert has neglected his duty to her shamefully. I've been thinking it +all over, and I'm half sorry now that I consented to take charge of her." + +"Then why do it?" said her husband placidly. + +"It's the scandal I fear," rejoined his wife, pursuing her own thought. +"There's bound to be a lot of talk and newspaper publicity when Robert +comes into the title. It would be much better to keep this quiet, after +all these years. There is really no occasion for it, if Robert will only +listen to reason. Robert wishes to avoid future trouble and complications +about the succession. That could be arranged by getting Sisily to sign +some agreement renouncing all claim on the title." + +"I doubt if such a document would be legal, my dear," said her husband +dubiously. + +"That wouldn't matter in the least," replied Mrs. Pendleton, with a +woman's contempt for the law. "It would be purely a family arrangement. +Sisily could be assured by somebody in whom she has reliance--not her +father, of course--that there was some legal reason why she could not +succeed. I do not think there would be any trouble with her. She does not +look the kind of girl to delight in a title and a lot of money. Robert +would have to settle a handsome allowance on the poor child--indeed, it is +the very least he can do! If Robert agreed to this course there would be +no need to blurt out the brutal truth, and I would take Sisily under my +charge." + +Mr. Pendleton saw several objections to his wife's plan, but he had long +learnt the futility of domestic argument--on the husband's side at least. +"How much do you consider your brother ought to allow Sisily?" he asked. + +"Two thousand a year. Robert can well afford it." + +"Do you think your brother Austin would agree?" + +"Of course he wouldn't. Austin is horribly selfish. He wouldn't give +Sisily a penny if he had his way, now that he knows the truth. But I don't +intend to consult Austin in the matter. I thought of asking Dr. Ravenshaw +to go with me and try and influence Robert. Robert trusts him implicitly, +and he seems to have a great deal of influence with him. I feel sure he +would do his utmost to bring Robert to listen to reason. Do you not think +my plan a good one?" + +In the secret depth of his heart Mr. Pendleton did not, but with the moral +cowardice of a husband he forebore from saying so. "It might be tried," he +feebly muttered. + +"Very well, we will try it, then," said his wife, rising from her seat as +she spoke. "Go and order that motor-car we had this afternoon while I get +ready." + +Mr. Pendleton was accustomed to his wife's energetic way of doing things +on the spur of the moment, but he had never become used to it. "Do you +intend to go and see your brother to-night?" he said, with an air of +surprise. + +"Why not?" + +Mr. Pendleton sought for a reason, but could find none. "It's rather late, +isn't it?" he suggested. + +"Nonsense!" Mrs. Pendleton glanced at her wrist watch. "It's not much past +eight." + +"Why not leave it until the morning?" said her husband, with a lingering +glance at the cheery glow of the log-fire in the lounge. "It's a beast of +a night to be out. Hark to the wind!" + +"If it is to be settled, it must be settled to-night," said Mrs. Pendleton +decisively. "There'll be no time in the morning for anything, if we are to +catch the ten o'clock train for London. Beside, Austin would see us if we +went there in daylight, and I do not want him to know anything about +it--he would only try and put obstacles in our way." + +"What about Sisily?" + +"She will be quite all right in her room. She looked tired out, and needs +a good night's rest. You had better see about the car at once." + +Mr. Pendleton said no more, and his wife bustled away to put on her +outdoor things. When she descended from her room her husband was awaiting +her in the lounge, and the head-light of the hired motor-car gleamed in +the darkness outside. + +They set out through the narrow uneven streets, which smelt strongly of +mackerel and pitch. In a few minutes the car was clear of the town, and +running at an increased pace through the gusty darkness of the moors. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +With a face grimly immobile as the carved head of a heathen god, Thalassa +stood at the front door watching the departure of Sisily and her aunt +until the car was lost to sight in a dip of the moors. Then with a glance +at the leaping water at the foot of the cliffs, grey and mysterious in the +gloaming, he turned and went inside the house. + +It was his evening duty to prepare the lamps which lighted up the old +house on the cliffs. Sisily generally helped him in that tedious duty, but +she was gone, and for the future he must do it alone. + +The lamps were kept in a little lowbrowed room off the stone kitchen. +There Thalassa betook himself. Robert Turold disliked the dark, and a +great array of lamps awaited him: large ones for the rooms, small ones for +the passages and staircase. Thalassa set to work with a will, filling them +with oil, trimming the wicks, and polishing the glasses with a piece of +chamois leather. + +As he filled and trimmed and polished he sang to himself an old sea song: + + "The devil and me, we went away to sea, + In the old brig 'Lizbeth-Jane'--" + +His voice was gruff and harsh, and the melody, such as it was, did nothing +to relax his expression, which remained grim and secret as ever. + +Each lamp he lit as he finished it, and their gathered strength gushed in +a flood of yellow light on his crafty brown face and deep-set eyes. He +placed several of the lamps on a tray, carefully lowered the wicks, and +carried them to their allotted places, returning for others until only +half a dozen small lamps remained. These he gathered on the tray and took +upstairs. + +Night had fallen; the wind was rising without, and seemed to rustle and +whistle in the draughty passages of the old house. Thalassa placed one +lamp at the head of the stairs, and others in the niches of the passage, +where they flickered feebly and diffused a feeble light. Halfway down the +passage he paused before a closed door. It was the room in which Sisily's +mother had died. With an expressionless face he went in and left the last +lamp burning dimly on the mantelpiece, like a votary candle on an altar of +the dead. Issuing forth again he cast a look around him and walked to +Robert Turold's study at the end of the passage. The door was closed, but +he opened it and entered. + +Robert Turold was busily engaged writing at a large table by the light of +a swinging lamp. He looked up from his papers as Thalassa entered, and +thoughtfully watched him as he trimmed the lamp and tended the fire. With +these duties completed Thalassa still lingered, as though he expected his +master to speak. + +"What's the glass like to-night, Thalassa?" remarked Robert Turold +absently. + +The allusion was to a weather glass which hung in the hall downstairs. As +a topic of conversation it was as useful to master and servant as the +weather is to most English people. That is to say, it helped them when +they were wordbound. + +"Going down fast," replied Thalassa. + +"Then I suppose we are in for another rough night." + +"The glass is always going down in Cornwall, and we are always in for +another rough night," responded the servitor curtly. "Are you going to +stay much longer in the forsaken hole?" + +"Not much longer," replied his master in a mild tone. + +"It is, perhaps, a dreary spot to you, but not to me--no, never to me. The +last link in my long search has been found here--hidden away in this +little out-of-the-way Cornish place. Think of that, Thalassa! I shall be +Lord Turrald." + +"I don't see what good it will do you," retorted the man austerely. +"You've spent a mint of money over it. I suppose that's your own affair, +though. But what's to come next? That's what I want to know." + +"When I leave Cornwall--" + +"You mean we, don't you?" Thalassa interrupted. + +"Of course I mean you as well as myself," Robert Turold replied almost +humbly. "I should be sorry to part with you, Thalassa, you must be well +aware of that. It is my intention to purchase a portion of the family +estate at Great Missenden, which is at present in the market, and spend +the remainder of my life in the place which once belonged to my ancestors. +That has been the dream of my life, and I shall soon be able to carry it +out." + +A silence fell between them upon this statement, and Robert Turold's eyes +turned towards his papers again. But Thalassa stood watching him, as +though he had something on his mind still. He brought it out abruptly-- + +"And what about your daughter?" + +"My daughter is going to London with my sister for a prolonged visit," +said Robert Turold hurriedly. "She needs womanly training and other +advantages which I, in my preoccupations, have been unable to bestow upon +her. It is greatly to her advantage to go." + +Robert Turold gave this explanation with averted face, in a tone which +sounded almost apologetic. The relative positions between them seemed +curiously reversed. It was as though Thalassa were the master, and the +other the man. + +"Oh, that's it, is it?" Thalassa turned a cautious yet penetrating eye +upon his master. "Well, she's your own daughter, so I suppose you know +what's the best for her." He spoke indifferently, but there was an odd +note in his voice. He picked up his tray, and carelessly added: "For my +part I shall be glad to get out of Cornwall. It's a savage place, only fit +for savages and seagulls. There's the wind rising again." + +A violent gust shook the house, and rattled the window-panes of the room. +It was the eyrie in which the deceased artist had painted his pictures, +with two large windows which looked over the cliff. Again the gale sprang +at the house, and smote the windows with spectral blows. Downstairs, a +door slammed sharply. + +"Damn the wind!" exclaimed Thalassa peevishly. "There's no keeping it out. +I'm going downstairs to lock up now. You'll have your supper up here, I +suppose?" + +"Yes. I have a lot of work to do before I go to bed." + +Thalassa left the room without further speech, and Robert Turold began +rummaging among his papers with a hand which trembled slightly. The table +was littered with parchments, old books, and some sheets of newly written +foolscap. He picked up his pen and plunged it into a brass inkstand, then +paused in thought. His face was perturbed and uneasy. It may be that he +was reviewing the events of the day, wondering, perhaps, whether he had +paid too high a price for the attainment of his ambition. For it he had +sacrificed his daughter and the woman who now slept in the churchyard near +by, indifferent to it all. Nothing could restore to him the secret he had +divulged that afternoon. + +A shade of apprehension deepened on his downcast face. Then he frowned +impatiently, and plunged into his writing again. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +On leaving his master's room Thalassa went swiftly downstairs and +disappeared into some remote back region of the lonely old house. He had +other duties to perform before his day's work was finished. There was wood +to be chopped, coal to be brought in, water to be drawn. Nearly an hour +elapsed before he reappeared, candle in hand, and entered the kitchen. + +A little woman with a furtive face, sharp nose, and blinking eyes was +seated at one end of the kitchen table with playing-cards spread out in +front of her. She looked up at the sound of the opening door, and fear +crept into her eyes. She was Thalassa's wife, but the relationship was so +completely ignored by Thalassa that other people were apt to forget its +existence. The couple did the work of Flint House between them, but apart +from that common interest Thalassa gave his wife very little of his +attention, leading a solitary morose life, eating and sleeping alone, and +holding no converse with her apart from what was necessary for the +management of the house. + +How he had ever come to bend his neck to the matrimonial yoke was one of +those mysteries which must be accounted a triumph for the pursuing sex--a +tribute to the fearlessness of woman in the ardour of the chase. On no +other hypothesis was it possible to understand how such a feeble specimen +of womanhood had been able to bring down such an untoward specimen of the +masculine brute. Outwardly, Thalassa had more kinship with a pirate than a +husband. There was that in his swart eagle visage and moody eyes which +suggested lawless cruises, untrammelled adventure, and the fierce wooing +of brown women by tropic seas rather than the dull routine of married +life. As a husband he was an anomaly like a caged macaw in a spinster's +drawing-room. + +Mrs. Thalassa's victory had ended with bringing him down, and she soon had +cause to regret her temerity in marrying him. Thalassa repaid the +indignity of capture by a course of treatment which had long since subdued +his wife to a state of perpetual fear of him--a fear which deepened into +speechless shaking horror when he stormed out at her in one of his black +rages. Some women would have taken to drink, others to religion. Mrs. +Thalassa sought consolation in two packs of diminutive and dog-eared +cards. Her shattered spirit found something inexpressibly soothing in the +intricacies of patience: in the patchwork of colour, the array of +sequences, the sudden discovery of an overlooked move, the dear triumph of +a hard-won game. + +It was thus she was occupied now, shuffling, cutting, and laying out her +rows with quick nervous movements of her worn little hands. She glanced +once more at her husband as he entered, and then bent over her cards +again. + +The night had descended blackly, and the wind moaned eerily round the old +house. Thalassa sat in a straight-backed wooden chair listening to the +wind and rain raging outside, and occasionally glancing at his wife, who +remained absorbed in her patience. Half an hour passed in silence, broken +only by the rattling of rain on the window, and the loud ticking of the +clock on the mantelpiece. Suddenly the bell of Robert Turold's room rang +loudly in its place behind the kitchen door. + +It was one of the old wired bells, and it sprang backwards and forwards so +violently under the impulse of the unseen pull that the other bells ranged +alongside responded to the vibration by oscillating in sympathy. + +Thalassa watched them moodily until the sound ceased. He then left the +kitchen with deliberate tread, and stalked upstairs. + +The door of his master's study was closed. He opened it without troubling +to knock, but started back in astonishment at the sight which met his +eyes. Robert Turold was crouching by the table like a beaten dog, +whimpering and shaking with fear. He sprang to his feet as Thalassa +entered, and advanced towards him. + +"Thank God you've come, Thalassa," he cried. + +"What's the matter with you?" said Thalassa sternly. + +"He's come back, Thalassa--he's come back." + +"He? Who?" + +"You know whom I mean well enough. It was--" His voice sank suddenly, and +he whispered a name in the man's ear. + +Thalassa's brown cheek paled slightly, but he answered quickly and +roughly-- + +"What nonsense are you talking now? How can he have come back? How often +must I tell you that he is dead?" + +"You mean that you thought he was dead, Thalassa. But he is alive." + +"How do you know?" + +"I heard him." + +"Heard him! What do you mean?" + +"I heard his footsteps pattering around the house, as clear and distinct +as that night on that hellish island. Shall I ever forget the sound of his +footsteps then, as he raced over the rocks, looking back at us with his +wild eyes, and the blood streaming down his face--running and running +until he stumbled and fell? The sound of his running footsteps as he +clattered over the rocks have haunted me day and night ever since. I heard +them again to-night." + +"I tell you again that he is dead. What! Do you think that you could hear +footsteps on a night like this?" The man stepped quickly across to the +nearest window and flung it open. The room was filled with rushing wind, +and the window curtains flapped noisily. "And where would he be running +to? Do you suppose he could climb up here from outside?" + +"It might have been his spirit," murmured the other. + +"Spirits don't cross the ocean, and their footsteps don't clatter," +responded Thalassa coldly. "The house is all locked up, and there is no +other house near by. Come, what are you afraid of? You are worrying and +upsetting yourself over nothing. I'll bring you up your supper, and some +whisky with it. And the sooner you leave this cursed hole of a place, the +better it will be." + +He crossed over to the fireplace and poked the coal into a red glow, and +then turned to leave the room. It was plain that his words had some effect +on Robert Turold, and he made an effort to restore his dignity before the +witness of his humiliation left him. + +"No doubt you are right, Thalassa," he said in his usual tone. "My nerves +are a little overstrung, I fancy. You said the house was locked up for the +night, I think?" + +"Everything bolted and barred," said Thalassa, and left the room. + +He returned downstairs to the kitchen, where he wandered restlessly about, +occasionally pausing to look out of the window into the darkness of the +night. The rain had ceased, but the wind blew fiercely, and the sea +thundered at the foot of the cliffs. The gloom outside was thinning, and +as Thalassa glanced out his eye lighted on a strange shape among the +rocks. To his imagination it appeared to have something of the semblance +of a man's form standing motionless, watching the house. + +Thalassa remained near the window staring out at the object. While he +stood thus, a faint sound reached him in the stillness. It was the muffled +yet insistent tap of somebody apparently anxious to attract attention +without making too much noise, and coming, as it seemed, from the front +door. Thalassa glanced at his wife, but she appeared to have heard +nothing, and her grey head was bent over her cards. He walked noiselessly +out of the kitchen, closing the door gently behind him. + +His wife remained at the table, unconscious of everything but the lay of +her cards; shuffling, dealing, setting them out afresh in perpendicular +rows, muttering at the obstinacy of the kings and queens as though their +painted faces were alive and sensitive to her reproof. The old house +creaked and groaned in the wind, then became suddenly silent, like a man +overtaken by sleep in the midst of stretching and yawning. Time sped on. +Thalassa did not return, but she did not notice his absence. More rain +fell, beating against the window importunately, as if begging admission, +then ceased all at once, as at a hidden command, and again there was a +profound silence. + +A piece of coal jumped from the fire with a hissing noise, and fell at +Mrs. Thalassa's feet. She got up to replace it, and observed that she was +alone. + +She thought she heard her husband's footsteps in the passage, and opened +the door. But there was nobody there. The lower part of the house was +gloomy and dark, but she could see the lamp glimmering on the hall stand. +She was about to return to her seat when the hall lamp suddenly mooned up, +cast monstrous shadows, and went black out. + +This fantastic trick of the lamp frightened her. What had made it flare up +like that and go out? And whose footsteps had she heard? With a chill +feeling of fear she shut the door and turned again to her game. But for +once the charm of the cards failed her. Where was Jasper, and why did he +not return? Silence held oppressive empire; her fears plucked at her like +ghostly hands. The lamp and the footstep--what did they mean? Had she +really heard a footstep? + +She thought she saw something white in the uncurtained space of the +window. She buried her face in her hands, lacking the courage to cross the +room and pull down the blind. + +Mysterious noises overhead, like somebody creeping on all-fours, drew her +eyes back to the door opening into the passage. With dismay she saw it was +not properly shut. She wondered if she dared go and lock it. Suppose it +was her husband, after all? And the noises? Were they real, or had she +imagined them? + +There came to her ear an unmistakable sound like the slamming of a door +above her. A sudden accession in the quality of her fear sent her flying +to the passage door to lock it. Before she could get there the door flew +open violently, as though hit by a giant's hand, and then the wind blew +coldly on her face. The lamp on the kitchen table sent up a straight +tongue of flame in the draught, and also went out. As she stood there with +straining eyes a cry rang out overhead, followed in a space immeasurable +to the listener in the gulf of blackness, by a shattering sound which +seemed to shake the house to its foundations. Then the external blackness +entered her own soul, shrouding her consciousness like the sudden swift +fall of a curtain. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +It seemed a long wild journey in the dark, but actually only half an hour +passed before the car emerged from the wind and rain of the moors into the +dimly-lighted stone street of the churchtown. A few minutes later the car +stopped, and the driver informed Mr. and Mrs. Pendleton in a Cornish drawl +that they had reached Dr. Ravenshaw's. + +Husband and wife emerged from the car and discerned a square stone house +lying back from the road behind a white fence. They walked up the path +from the gate and rang the bell. + +A rugged and freckled servant lass answered the ring, and stared hard at +the visitors from a pair of Cornish brown eyes. On learning their names +she conducted them into a small room off the hall and departed to inform +the doctor of their arrival. + +Dr. Ravenshaw came in immediately. The quick glance he bestowed upon his +visitors expressed surprise, but he merely invited them to be seated and +waited for them to explain the object of their late visit. The room into +which they had been shown was his consulting room, furnished in the +simplest fashion--almost shabbily. There were chairs and table and a +couch, a small stand for a pile of magazines, a bookcase containing some +medical works, and a sprawling hare's-foot fern in a large flowerpot by +the window. Mr. Pendleton seated himself near the fern, examining it as +though it was a botanical rarity, and left his wife to undertake the +conversation. Mrs. Pendleton was accustomed to take the lead, and +immediately commenced-- + +"I have taken the liberty of coming to ask your advice about my niece, +doctor. You heard what my brother said this afternoon?" + +Dr. Ravenshaw inclined his head without speaking, and waited for her to +continue. + +"As you are a friend of my brother's--" + +"Hardly a friend," he interrupted, with a gesture of dissent. "Our +acquaintance is really too short to warrant that term." + +There was a professional formality about his tone which pulled her up +short. Like all impulsive people she was chilled by a lack of +responsiveness. Her impulse in visiting him had hoped for an interest +equalling her own. She reflected now that she should have remembered that +nobody liked being bothered with other people's affairs. She recovered her +feminine assurance and went on, with a winning smile. + +"But you are in my brother's confidence, doctor--you were present at our +family gathering this afternoon. It is because of that I have come to see +you again, at this late hour. My husband and I are returning to London in +the morning, and there would be no other opportunity. I have been thinking +over all my brother said this afternoon, and I am very much distressed +about my niece." + +He gave a short comprehending nod which encouraged her to proceed. + +"I am extremely desirous of preventing this scandal of my brother's +marriage coming to light after all these years," she earnestly pursued. +"It seems to me that Robert has decided to let the truth be known without +first considering all the circumstances. He has forgotten that if he +succeeds in restoring the title he will come prominently into the public +eye. As the holder of a famous name his affairs will have a public +interest, and details will be published in the newspapers and eagerly +read. That is why this story about Sisily's mother would be so terrible +for all of us, and especially for Sisily." + +"I should think your brother had foreseen all this." said Dr. Ravenshaw, +after a short pause. + +"I do not think Robert has realized it," Mrs. Pendleton eagerly rejoined. +"He is a most unworldly man, and lives in a world of his own. His whole +life has been devoted to the idea of restoring the title. He has thought +of nothing else since he was a boy. He is quite incapable of understanding +what a sensation this story of an earlier marriage will cause if it is +made public. Indeed, I did not realize it myself until afterwards. Then I +decided to come and see you, and ask your help." + +"I quite agree with you that it would be better if the story could remain +unknown, after all these years. But how can I help you?" + +She had anticipated that question, and proceeded to unfold her plan. + +"It might be kept quiet, I think," she said meditatively. "It is Robert's +duty to keep it secret for Sisily's sake. I am chiefly concerned about +her. Girls are difficult, so different from boys! It wouldn't be so bad if +she were a boy. A boy could change his name and emigrate, go on a ranch +and forget all about it. But it is different for a girl. Leaving the shock +out of the question, this thing would spoil Sisily's life and ruin her +chances of a good marriage if it was allowed to come out. People will +talk. It is inevitable that they should, in the circumstances. I fancy the +matter could be arranged in a way to satisfy Robert--so as not to +interfere with his plans about the title." + +"What do you suggest?" + +"Sisily could be told that there is some obstacle which prevents her +succeeding to the title. Robert has not brought her up as an heiress with +expectations. He has never treated her fairly, poor girl. It was his dream +to have a son to succeed him. Not that it would have made any difference +if Sisily had been a son, after what's come to light! Sisily would never +question anything that was told her about this wretched title, for I'm +quite sure that the idea of inheriting it has never entered her head. It +certainly never entered mine. I thought titles descended in the male line. +I don't know, really, but that has always been my idea." + +"It depends on the terms of the original creation. The Turrald barony +originally went into abeyance among several daughters. One daughter could +have succeeded. There is nothing in the wording of the original writ to +prevent it--no limitation to male heirs. It is now well established by +precedent that a daughter can inherit a barony by writ. But for the +unhappy obstacle revealed by your brother's story, his daughter would +undoubtedly have succeeded to the restored title on his death." + +"I'm sure it's very good of you to explain it to me," murmured Mrs. +Pendleton, in some confusion of mind. "It sounds quite reasonable, too. A +woman can inherit the throne of England, so why not a title? But it never +occurred to me before. Sisily, of course, cannot succeed to my brother's +title because of her birth. But is there any need for this to be known? +Could she not sign a paper renouncing her rights in return for a share of +my brother's fortune?" + +"I doubt if the law would approve of the arrangement if it became known." + +"The law should realize that it was done from the best of motives to keep +from an innocent girl a secret which would darken her life," responded +Mrs. Pendleton with decision. + +"I wasn't looking at it altogether in that light," replied Dr. Ravenshaw +with a slow shake of the head. "But it might have been tried--oh yes, it +might have been tried." He rose from his chair, and paced thoughtfully up +and down the room. + +"Is it too late to try it now?" she asked. + +He looked at her thoughtfully. + +"In what way?" + +"By trying to persuade my brother to change his mind." + +"He is not likely to change his mind." + +"That," responded Mrs. Pendleton, "remains to be put to the test. I intend +to see him to-night, before it is too late. I beg you for Sisily's sake to +come with me and try and persuade him." + +"Such a request as you propose to make should come only from a member of +the family," replied Dr. Ravenshaw. "It is a matter in which I would +rather not be involved. If you wish support, I would remind you that there +are two other members of your own family--your other brother and his +son--staying temporarily in this churchtown, not far from here. Why not go +to them?" + +With a charmingly feminine gesture Mrs. Pendleton washed her hands of the +other members of the family. "I would not dream of going to Austin," she +said in decided tones. "He would not approve of my plan, nor, indeed, +would Robert listen to him if he did. But he would listen to you, I feel +sure. That is my reason for coming to you." She rose from her seat, and +sought to shepherd him into compliance by approaching him with a +propitiatory smile. "Do come, doctor. I have trespassed too much on your +kindness already, but oblige me further in this." + +"It's rather late for a visit," he replied. + +"It's only half-past nine," she said, with a glance at her wrist watch. +"My brother sits up till all hours over his papers and books. I will take +all responsibility upon myself for the visit. I will tell Robert that I +literally had to drag you with me, and he will understand that we simply +had to see him to-night, as he knows we are going home to London first +thing in the morning. Do come, Dr. Ravenshaw. The car is waiting." + +He consulted his own watch. + +"Very well, Mrs. Pendleton," he assented. "I will accompany you. Please +excuse me while I get my coat." + +He rejoined them in a moment or two, and they proceeded outside to the +waiting car. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + + +A few minutes later the car stopped in the gloom outside the old house on +the cliffs. The storm had passed, but the sea still raged white beneath an +inky sky. A faint gleam from a shuttered front window pointed a finger of +light to the gravel path which led to the front door. + +Mrs. Pendleton knocked, and an answer came quickly. The door was partly +opened, and Thalassa's voice from within parleyed: "Who's there?" + +"Mrs. Pendleton--your master's sister," was the reply. "Let us in, +Thalassa." + +The door was at once opened wide, and Thalassa stood back for them to +enter. By the light of the lamp he carried they saw that he was dressed +and coated for a journey, with his hat on. + +"I'm glad you've come," he said to Dr. Ravenshaw. "It's you I was just +going out to fetch." + +There was something strange in his manner, and the doctor looked at him +quickly. "What's the matter with you, man? Is there anything wrong?" + +"That's what I don't know. But I'm afeered, yes, by God, I'm afeered." + +His voice broke hoarsely, and he stood before them with his eyes averted +from the three wondering faces regarding him. Mrs. Pendleton stepped +quickly forward, and grasped his arm. + +"What is it, Thalassa? Has anything happened to my brother?" + +"There's been a great noise in his room, like as if something heavy had +crashed down, then silence like the grave. I went up and called--an' tried +to open the door, but I couldn't." + +"Why didn't you try to break in the door?" said Dr. Ravenshaw. + +"Tweren't my place," was the dogged retort. "I know my place. I was just +going to St. Fair for you and his brother." + +"How long is it since this happened--since you heard the crash, I mean." + +"Not many minutes agone. Just before you came to the door." + +"Light us upstairs at once, Thalassa," said Mrs. Pendleton sharply. + +"Mrs. Pendleton, will you wait downstairs while we investigate?" suggested +Dr. Ravenshaw. + +"No," she resolutely answered. "I will come with you, doctor. Robert may +need me. Do not let us waste any more time." + +She slipped past him to Thalassa, who was mounting the stairs. Dr. +Ravenshaw hurried after her. Mr. Pendleton, with an obvious call on his +courage, followed last. The lamp in Thalassa's hand burnt unsteadily, +first flaming angrily, then flickering to a glimmer which brought them to +a pause, one above the other on the stairs, listening intently, and +looking into the darkness above. + +"His bedroom is open and empty," said Thalassa when they had reached the +end of the passage above. "See!" He pointed to the gaping door, and then +turned to the closed one opposite. "He's in here." His voice sank to a +whisper. "It was from here the noise came." + +He placed the lamp on the floor, and knocked hesitatingly on the dark +panel of the closed door, then again more loudly, but there was no reply. +Far beneath them they could hear the solemn roar of the sea dashing +against the cliffs, but there was no sound in the closed chamber. Its +stillness and hush seemed intensified by the clamour of the sea, as though +calamity were brooding in the darkness within. + +"Robert, Robert!" The high pitch of Mrs. Pendleton's voice shattered the +quietude like the startling clang of an unexpected bell. "Knock again, +Thalassa, more loudly, very loudly," she cried, in the shrill accents of +tightened nerves. + +Thalassa approached the door again, but recoiled swiftly. "God A'mighty!" +he hoarsely exclaimed, pointing, "what's that?" + +They followed the direction of his finger to the floor, and saw a sluggish +thin dark trickle making its way underneath the door. Mr. Pendleton +stooped and examined it, but rose immediately. + +"There's been trouble in there," he said, with a pale face. + +"How could anybody get in?" said Thalassa sullenly. "The door is locked +from the inside, and it's two hundred feet from the windows to the bottom +of the cliffs." + +"Oh, for pity's sake stop talking and do something," cried Mrs. Pendleton +hysterically. "My poor brother may be dying." She rattled the door-handle. +"Robert, Robert, what is the matter? Let me in. It is I--Constance." + +"We must break in the door," said Dr. Ravenshaw. "Stand away, Mrs. +Pendleton, please. Now, Thalassa, both together." + +The doctor and the servant put their shoulders to the door. Mr. Pendleton +watched them with a white face, but did not go to their assistance. At the +fourth effort there was a sound of splintering wood, the lock gave, and +the door swung back. + +They peered in. At first they could see nothing. The light of the +swinging-lamp had been lowered, and the interior of the room was veiled in +shadow. Then their eyes detected a dark outline on the floor between the +table and the window--the figure of a man, lying athwart the carpet with +arms outstretched, face downwards, the spread finger-tips clutching at +some heavy dark object between the head and the arms. + +Thalassa stepped across the threshold, and with shaking hand turned up the +lowered wick of the swinging lamp. The light revealed the stark form of +Robert Turold. At this sight Mrs. Pendleton broke into a loud cry and +essayed to cross the room to her brother's side. + +"Keep back, Mrs. Pendleton!" cried Dr. Ravenshaw, interposing himself in +front of her. "I begged of you not to come upstairs. Mr. Pendleton, take +your wife away at once." + +But Mr. Pendleton's timorous and inferior mind was incapable of +translating the command into action. He could only stare dumbly before +him. + +"No, no! Let me stay, I will be calm," Mrs. Pendleton pleaded. "Is--is he +dead, doctor?" + +Dr. Ravenshaw crossed to the centre of the room and bent over the body, +feeling the heart. Husband and wife watched him, huddled together, their +white faces framed in the shadow of the doorway. In a moment he was on his +feet again, advancing towards them. "We can do no good here, Mrs. +Pendleton," he said gently. "Your brother is dead." + +"Dead? Robert dead!" Her startled eye sought his averted face, and her +feminine intuition gathered that which he was seeking to withhold. "Do you +mean that he has been killed?" she whimpered. + +"I fear that there has been--an accident," he replied evasively. He stood +in front of them in a way which obscured their view of the prone figure, +and a small shining thing lying alongside, which he alone had seen. +"Come," he said, in a professional manner, taking her by the arm. "Let me +take you downstairs." He got her away from the threshold, and pulled the +broken door to, shutting out the spectacle within. + +"Are you going to leave him there--like that?" whispered Mrs. Pendleton. + +"It is necessary, till the police have seen him," he assured her. "We had +better send Thalassa in the car to the churchtown. Go for Sergeant +Pengowan, Thalassa, and tell him to come at once. And afterwards you had +better call at Mr. Austin Turold's lodgings and tell him and his son. +Hurry away with you, my man. Don't lose a moment!" + +Thalassa hastened along the passage as though glad to get away. His heavy +boots clattered down the staircase and along the empty hall. Then the +front door banged with a crash. + +The others followed more slowly, stepping gently in the presence of Death, +past the little lamps, hardly bigger than fireflies, which flickered +feebly in their alcoves. They went into the front room, where a table lamp +gave forth a subdued light. Mrs. Pendleton turned up the wick and sank +into a chair, covering her face with her hands. + +It was the room where only that afternoon Robert Turold had unfolded the +history of his life's quest: a large gloomy room with heavy old furniture, +faded prints of the Cornish coast, and a whitefaced clock on the +mantel-piece with a loud clucking tick. Dr. Ravenshaw knew the room well, +but Robert Turold's sister had seen it for the first time that day, and +the recollection of what had taken place there was so fresh in her memory +that it brought a flood of tears. + +"Poor Bob!" she sobbed. "He denied himself all his life for the sake of +the title, and what's the good of it all--now?" + +That was the only light in which she was able to see the tragedy in the +first moment of the shock. Other thoughts and revelations about her +brother's strange death were to come later, when her mind recovered its +bearings. For the moment she was incapable of thinking coherently. She was +conscious only of the fact that her brother had been cut off in the very +moment of success--before it, indeed; ere he had actually tasted the +sweets of the ambition he had given all his years to gain. + +Silence fell between them, broken only by the clucking of the whitefaced +clock and the dreary sound of the wind outside, crying round the old house +like a frightened woman in the dark. Nearly an hour passed before they +heard the sound of a guarded knock at the front door. Dr. Ravenshaw went +and opened it. Austin Turold was standing on the threshold. + +"This is bad news, doctor," he said, stepping quickly inside. "I came +ahead of the others--walked over. Thalassa is waiting at the churchtown +for the sergeant, who is away on some official business, but expected back +shortly. They may be here at any minute." + +He spoke a little breathlessly, as though with running, and seemed anxious +to talk. He went on--. + +"How did it happen? Tell me everything. I could get nothing out of +Thalassa. He was detained at the police station for a considerable time, +waiting for Pengowan, before he came to me with the news. He gave a great +knock at the door of my lodgings like the thunder of doom, and when I got +downstairs he blurted out that my brother was killed--shot--but not +another word of explanation could I get out of him. What does it all +mean?" + +"I cannot say. Your sister and I reached the house just as Thalassa was +about to leave it to seek my assistance. Your sister is in the +sitting-room." + +Austin Turold brushed past the doctor and opened the door of the lighted +room. At his entrance Mrs. Pendleton sprang from her seat to greet him. +Grief and horror were in her look, but surprise contended with other +emotions in Austin's face. She kissed him with clinging hands on his +shoulders. + +"Oh, Austin," she cried, "Robert is dead--killed!" + +"The news has shocked me to the last degree," responded her brother. "What +has happened? Did somebody send for you? Is that what brought you here?" + +Mrs. Pendleton shook her head, embarrassed in her grief. She remembered +that she wished to keep the object of her visit secret from her younger +brother, and she could not very well disclose the truth then. + +"Not exactly," she replied, a trifle incoherently. "I wanted to see Robert +again before I returned to London in the morning. So we motored over after +dinner, and found him--dead." Fresh tears broke from her. + +Austin Turold wandered around the room quickly and nervously, then drew +Dr. Ravenshaw to the door with a glance. "I should like to go upstairs +before the police come," he whispered. + +Dr. Ravenshaw nodded, and they went upstairs together. The shattered door +creaked open to their touch, revealing the lighted interior and the dead +man prone on the floor. Austin approached his brother's corpse, eyed it +shudderingly, and turned away. Then he stooped to look at the small +revolver lying alongside, but did not touch it. Again he bent over the +corpse, this time with more composure in his glance. + +The object on which the outstretched arms rested was an old Dutch hood +clock, which had fallen or been dragged from a niche in the wall, and lay +face uppermost, the glass case open and smashed, the hands: stopped at the +hour of half-past nine. It was a clock of the seventeenth century, of a +design still to be found occasionally in old English houses. A landscape +scene was painted in the arch above the dial, showing the moon above a +wood, in a sky crowded with stars. The moon was depicted as a human face, +with eyes which moved in response to the swing of the pendulum. But the +pendulum was motionless, and the goggle eyes of the mechanism stared up +almost reproachfully, as though calling upon the two men to rescue it from +such an undignified position. At the bottom of the dial appeared the name +of Jan Fromantel, the famous Dutch clockmaker, and underneath was an +inscription in German lettering-- + + "Every tick that I do give + Cuts short the time you have to live. + Praise thy Maker, mend thy ways, + Till Death, the thief, shall steal thy days." + +"Look at the blood!" said Austin Turold, pointing to a streak of blood on +the large white dial. "How did it happen?" + +"I know very little more than yourself. Your sister called at my house +about an hour ago and asked me to accompany her here. She wished to see +your brother on some private business, and she was very anxious that I +should accompany her. Thalassa let us in, and said he was afraid that +there was something wrong with his master. We came upstairs immediately, +burst in the door, and found--this." + +"Did Thalassa hear the shot?" + +"He says not, only the crash." + +"That would be the clock, of course. Was my brother quite dead when you +found him?" + +"Just dead. The body was quite warm." + +"The door was locked from inside, I think you said." + +"We found it locked." + +"Then it must have been locked from inside," returned the other, who +appeared to be pursuing some hidden train of thought. "But where's the +key? I do not see it in the door. Oh, here it is!" He stooped swiftly and +picked up a key from the floor. "Robert must have taken it out after +locking the door." + +"Perhaps it fell out when we were breaking in the door," observed the +doctor. + +"Of course. I forgot that. I notice that the clock is stopped at half-past +nine." He bent down to examine it. "My brother kept private papers in the +clock-case," he added. "Yes--it is as I thought. Here are some private +documents, including his will. I had better take charge of them." + +"Yes; I should if I were you," counselled his companion. + +Austin rose to his feet and placed the papers in his pocket. + +"It is plain to me--now--how it happened," he said. "Poor Robert must have +shot himself, then tried to get his will from the clock-case when he fell, +bringing down the clock with him." + +"Is that what you think?" said Dr. Ravenshaw. + +"I see no other way of looking at it," returned Austin rapidly. "The door +was locked on the inside, and the room couldn't be reached from the +window. This house stands almost on the edge of the cliff, which is nearly +two hundred feet high. My feeling is that after my poor brother shot +himself he remembered in his dying moments that his will was hidden in the +clock-case and might not be found. He made a desperate effort to reach it +and dragged it down as he fell." + +The doctor listened attentively to this imaginary picture of Robert +Turold's last moments. + +"But why should he destroy himself?" he queried. + +"Grief and remorse. Do you remember the disclosure he made to us this +afternoon? It is a matter which might well have preyed upon his mind." + +"I see," said the other thoughtfully. "Yes, perhaps you may be right." + +Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of a loud knocking +downstairs. + +"That must be the police," observed Dr. Ravenshaw. "Let us go down." + + + + +CHAPTER X + + +"Why should Robert commit suicide?" + +That was the burden of Mrs. Pendleton's cry, then and afterwards. There +was an angry scene in the old cliff house between brother and sister +before the events of that night were concluded. She utterly refused to +accept Austin's theory that their brother, with his own hand, had +discharged the revolver bullet which had put an end to his life and +ambitions. Sitting bolt upright in indignant amazement, she rejected the +idea in the sharpest scorn. It was nothing to her that the police sergeant +from the churchtown shared her brother's view, and that Dr. Ravenshaw was +passively acquiescent. She brushed aside the plausible web of +circumstances with the impatient hand of an angry woman. They might talk +till Doomsday, but they wouldn't convince her that Robert, of all men, had +done anything so disgraceful as take his own life. Arguments and events, +the locked door and the inaccessible windows--pathetically masculine +insistence on mere details--were wasted on her. The marshalled array of +facts made not the slightest impression on her firm belief that Robert had +not shot himself. + +Shaking a large finger of angry import at Austin, and addressing herself +to him alone, she had said-- + +"Robert has been murdered, Austin, I feel sure. I don't care what you say, +but if there's law in England I'll have his murderer discovered." + +And with that conclusion she had indignantly left the house with her +husband, leaving her brother to walk back to his lodgings at the +churchtown in moody solitude across the rainy darkness of the moors. + +For herself, she returned to her hotel to pass a sleepless night, tossing +by the side of her placidly unconscious husband as she passed the tragic +events of the night in review and vainly sought for some clue to the +mystery. The dreadful logic of the circumstances which pointed to suicide, +hammered at her consciousness with deadening persistence, but she +resolutely refused to give it entry. Why should Robert commit suicide? Why +indeed? It was the question which had sprung to her lips when she first +heard Austin's belief, and it was to that she now clung in the midst of +her agonizing doubts, as though the mere wordless insistence in her mind +made it an argument of negation which gathered force and cogency by +frequent repetition. + +But in the mass of teeming thoughts which crowded her brain in the silence +of the small hours, she long and vainly sought for any other theory which +would account for her brother's death. If he had been murdered, as in the +first flush of her indignation she had declared, who had killed him? Who +had gone to the lonely old house in the darkness of the night, and struck +him down? + +It was not until the first faint glimmering of dawn was pushing its grey +way through the closed shutters that there came to her the recollection of +an incident of the previous day which had left a deep mark upon her mind +at the time, but had since been covered over by the throng of later +tremendous events. It was the memory of that momentary glance of a pair of +eyes through the slit of the door while her brother was telling of his +daughter's illegitimacy and her mother's shame. In the light of Robert's +subsequent death that incident appeared in a new sinister shape as a clue +to the commission of the deed itself. With the recollection of that glance +there sprang almost simultaneously before her mental vision the grim and +forbidding features of her brother's servant, Thalassa. + +If she had been asked, Mrs. Pendleton could not have given a satisfactory +reason for linking Thalassa with the incident of the eyes, but she was a +woman, and not concerned about reasons. The two impressions had scurried +swiftfooted, into her mind together, and there they remained. She was now +convinced that she had all along believed it was Thalassa she had seen +watching through the door, watching and listening for some fell purpose of +his own. She knew nothing about Thalassa, but she had taken an instant +dislike to him when she first saw him. That vague dislike now assumed the +form of active suspicion against him. She determined, with the +impulsiveness which was part of her temperament, to bring her suspicion +before the police at the earliest possible moment. + +She was essentially a woman of action, and in spite of her sleepless night +she was up and dressed before her husband was awake. He came down to +breakfast to find his wife had already finished hers, and was dressed +ready to go out. + +"Where is Sisily?" he asked, with a glance at the girl's vacant place. + +"I've ordered her breakfast to be taken to her room, and sent word to her +to rest in bed until I go to her," his wife replied. "I have a painful +ordeal before me in breaking the news of Robert's death to her. It's all +over the hotel already, unfortunately. Sisily is out of the way of gossip +in her room. After I've seen her I shall leave her in your charge, Joseph. +I shall have plenty on my hands to-day." + +Mr. Pendleton received this mandate with a blank face, and momentarily +regretted that the arrangements for their departure by the morning's train +had been cancelled. Then his better nature asserted itself, and he meekly +replied that he would do what he could. "What do you suggest?" he asked. + +"Take her for a walk," responded his wife. "Try and keep her interested +and her mind occupied." + +With these words she left the breakfast table and proceeded upstairs to +Sisily's room before going out. On the way there she again regretted +having undertaken the responsibility of her niece's future. She had not +disturbed Sisily on the previous night. She had tried her door on her way +to her own room, but it was locked, so she had let the girl sleep on, and +deferred breaking the tragic news until the morning. + +She now paused outside the door reluctantly. But she was not the woman to +shrink from a duty because it was unpleasant, and womanly sympathy for her +unhappy niece banished her diffidence. She knocked lightly and entered. + +Sisily was seated by the window reading. A breakfast tray, still +untouched, stood on a small table beside her. She put down her book as her +aunt entered, and rose to greet her. + +Mrs. Pendleton bent over the girl and kissed her, and took her hand. As +she did so she observed that Sisily looked worn and fatigued, with black +rings under her eyes, as though she, too, had passed a sleepless night. +But she was wonderfully pretty, the elder woman thought, and nothing could +rob her of the fresh charm of youth and beauty. + +"Sit down, Sisily," she said, leading her back to her chair, and taking +another one beside her. "I have sad news for you, dear, and you must be a +brave girl. Something has happened to your father." + +"What has happened?" asked Sisily quickly. Then, as if taking in the +import of her aunt's tone, rather than her words, she added: "Do you mean +that he is ... dead?" + +Mrs. Pendleton inclined her head with tears in her eyes. "It is worse even +than that," she went on, her voice drooping to a whisper. "He ... he has +been killed. We found him last night. Listen, dear, I will tell you all." + +She gave the cold fingers a comforting pressure as she spoke, but the hand +was immediately withdrawn, and Sisily sprang away from her, then turned +and regarded her with blazing eyes and a white face. + +"Tell me about it!" she said. + +Mrs. Pendleton imparted as much of the facts as she felt called upon to +relate. There was something about the girl's reception of the news which +puzzled her, and her own look fell before the sombre intensity of her +gaze. Sisily heard the story in silence, and when it was finished, merely +said-- + +"I think I would like to be left alone for a little while, if you don't +mind." + +"Oh, you mustn't sit here moping, my dear," said Mrs. Pendleton, with an +attempt at cheerfulness which she felt to be clumsy and ill-timed, but +Sisily's manner had momentarily disconcerted her. "You had better put on +your hat and coat and go out with your uncle. He is waiting downstairs for +you. It is very sad, very terrible, but you must let us help you bear it. +You must not stay here alone." + +"You are very kind"--the girl's lips quivered slightly, though her face +remained calm--"but I would rather not go out. I should prefer to be left +alone." + +There was in her expression a despairing yet calm detachment and resolve +which forced Mrs. Pendleton in spite of herself to yield to her wish with +a meekness which was almost timidity. + +"Very well, dear," she said. "If you feel like a walk later on, you will +find your uncle downstairs." + +As she left the room she heard the door shut behind her. + +But Mrs. Pendleton had other things to think about that morning than the +strangeness of her niece's disposition and the manner in which she had +received the news of her father's death. The horror of that event filled +her own thoughts to the exclusion of everything else, and she was +determined to remain in Cornwall until the mystery was explained. + +She glanced at her watch as she reached the bottom of the stairs. She had +breakfasted early, and it still wanted a few minutes to ten o'clock. The +lobby of the hotel was deserted, and through the glass doors leading to +the breakfast-room she could see a few guests still at their morning meal. +A porter was sweeping the front entrance, and of him she enquired the way +to the police station, and set out for it. + +It was chill and grey after the storm, with a sky obscured by scudding +clouds, but a gleam of truant sunshine was sporting wantonly on the hoary +castled summit of St. Michael's Mount, and promised to visit the town +later on. Mrs. Pendleton walked briskly, and soon arrived at the police +station. + +A young constable in the office came forward as she entered and enquired +her business. She disclosed her name, and her relationship with the inmate +of Flint House, deeming that would be sufficient to gain her an interview +with somebody in authority. In that expectation she was not disappointed. +The constable favoured her with a good hard stare, went into another room, +and reappeared to say that Inspector Dawfield would see her at once. + +She followed him into the inner room, where a slight man of middle age was +seated at a leather-covered table opening his morning correspondence. He +looked up and bowed as he saw his visitor, but waited until the constable +had retired before he spoke. + +"Good morning," he said. "What can I do for you?" + +His eye regarded her with a thoughtful glance. His professional interest +had been aroused by the strange death of the occupant of Flint House, +whose object in visiting Cornwall had been common gossip in the district +for some time past. + +"It is about my brother's death that I wished to see you." Mrs. Pendleton +spoke earnestly, drawing her chair closer with the feeling that the man +before her had sufficient intelligence to give her a sympathetic hearing. + +"So I gathered from your card. It seems a very sad case. Sergeant +Pengowan's report has just reached me. Anything I can do for you--" +Inspector Dawfield pretended to occupy himself in cutting open an official +envelope with scrupulous care. + +"Sergeant Pengowan regards it as a case of suicide, does he not?" asked +Mrs. Pendleton rigidly. + +"Well, yes, I believe he does," replied Inspector Dawfield. "There is no +doubt on that point, is there? Your brother's revolver was lying near him, +and the door was locked on the inside." + +"There is the greatest doubt in my mind," returned Mrs. Pendleton +vehemently. "I do not--I cannot believe that my brother has taken his own +life. In fact, I am sure he did not." + +On hearing these words Inspector Dawfield looked at his visitor again, +with something more than surprise in his eyes, then he pulled a document +from a pigeonhole and hastily scanned it. + +"Pengowan's report states quite definitely that it is suicide," he said as +he replaced it. "In the face of that, do you think--" + +"I think my brother has been murdered," she said in a decided voice. + +"This is a very grave statement to make, Mrs. Pendleton. Have you anything +to support it? Anything which has not been brought to light, I mean?" + +Mrs. Pendleton proceeded to give her reasons. She had thought over what +she was going to say as she came along, and she spoke with growing +conviction, intensified by the sight of the earnest attentive face before +her. The incident of the person she had detected looking through the door +took on a new significance as she related it. By her constant association +of the eyes with the disliked face of her brother's servant, she had +unconsciously reached the conclusion that she had all along recognized the +eavesdropper as Thalassa. + +"You say your brother was talking about some family matters at the time?" +asked Inspector Dawfield, as she related that part of her story. + +"Yes," responded Mrs. Pendleton. She had repressed all mention of her +brother's announcement of his daughter's illegitimacy, but afterwards she +tried to persuade herself that it slipped her memory at the time. + +"It's common enough for servants to listen at doors," remarked Inspector +Dawfield. "In this case it may seem to have a sinister interpretation +because of what happened afterwards. How long has this man been in your +brother's employ?" + +"A number of years, I believe," replied Mrs. Pendleton. "But he has a +wicked face," she added hastily, as though that fact cancelled a record of +lengthy service. "I took a dislike to him as soon as I saw him." + +Inspector Dawfield veiled a slight smile with a sheet of foolscap. "Have +you any other reason for suspecting him?" + +"Oh, I wouldn't like to say that I suspect Thalassa, or anybody else." +Mrs. Pendleton was prompt with this assurance. "But there are certain +things which seem to me to need further investigation. There's the +question of the door being locked on the inside. It seems to me that the +door might have been locked on the outside, and the key dropped in there +afterwards. The door had to be smashed before we could get in, and the key +wasn't in the door then, you know." + +Dawfield nodded thoughtfully. "Who has charge of the keys in your +brother's house? This servant with the strange name--Thalassa, is it?" + +"Yes, and he was upstairs in my brother's room last night, after we came +down. And when we got there he was ready to go out, with his hat and coat +on. It all seems very strange." + +Again the courteous inspector hid a slight smile. His lady visitor might +disclaim suspecting anybody, but her inferences carried her to the same +point. + +"What do you wish me to do?" he asked. + +"I feel there should be further inquiries. Sergeant Pengowan does not +strike me as the kind of man capable of bringing to light any mystery +which may be hidden behind my brother's supposed suicide. He does not look +at all intelligent. I thought of sending a telegram to Scotland Yard, but +I decided to see you first." + +The hint was not lost on Inspector Dawfield, but it was unnecessary. It +was his duty to look into her complaint and make further inquiries into +the case. + +"Your statement shall certainly be investigated," he said emphatically. "I +am rather short of men just now, but I'll see if I can get Bodmin to send +over a man. I will inquire immediately, if you will excuse me." + +He retired into a curtained recess in a corner of the room, where Mrs. +Pendleton could see him holding a colloquy over the telephone. After +rather a lengthy conversation he returned to announce that a detective was +coming over by the next train to investigate the case. + +"The Bodmin office is sending over Detective Barrant, of Scotland Yard," +he explained. "He happens to be in Cornwall on another case, and was just +on the point of returning to London. I was able to speak to him personally +and relate the facts of your brother's death. He decided to telephone to +Scotland Yard, and come over here at once. He will arrive soon after +lunch. I will take him to Flint House myself. He may wish to see you later +on. Will you be at your hotel?" + +"If not, I will leave word where I can be found," replied Mrs. Pendleton, +rising as she spoke. "Good morning, and thank you." + +She left the police station feeling that she had accomplished an excellent +morning's work, and hurried back to the hotel with visions of letters to +be written and telegrams to be sent before lunch. But she was destined to +do neither. As she entered the lounge, her eye fell upon its solitary +occupant, a male figure in a grey lounge suit sitting in her favourite +corner by the window. It was her brother Austin. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + + +He rose from his seat as he saw her, but waited for her to approach. Her +eyes, dwelling on his face, noted that it was not so angry as she had last +seen it, but smoothed into the semblance of sorrow and regret, with, +however, something of the characteristic glance of irony which habitually +distinguished him, though that may have been partly due to the pince-nez +which glittered over his keen eyes. There was something of an art in +Austin Turold's manner of wearing glasses; they tilted, superiorly, at the +world in general at an acute angle on the high bridge of a supercilious +nose, the eyes glancing through them downwards, as though from a great +height, at a remote procession of humanity crawling far beneath. + +At that moment, however, there was nothing superior in his bearing. It was +so unwontedly subdued, so insistently meek, that it was to be understood +that his mission was both conciliatory and propitiatory. That, at least, +was the impression Mrs. Pendleton gathered as her brother informed her +that he had been waiting nearly an hour to see her. + +She reflected that he must have arrived shortly after she left the hotel +to go to the police station, and she wondered what had induced her brother +to rise at an hour so uncommonly early for him, in order to pay her a +morning visit. + +"I was up betimes," said Austin, as though reading her thought. "Sleep, of +course, was impossible. Poor Robert!" + +Mrs. Pendleton waited impatiently for him to disclose the real reason of +an appearance which had more behind it, she felt sure, than to express +condolences about their common bereavement. Of Robert she had always stood +a little in awe, but she understood her younger brother better. As a boy +she had seen through him and his pretensions, and he did not seem to her +much changed since those days. + +"I have been upset by our difference last night, Constance," he pursued. +"It seems deplorable for us to have quarrelled--yes, actually +quarrelled--over our poor brother's death." + +His sister's face hardened instantly. "That wasn't my fault," she said +distantly. + +"You'll excuse me for saying that I think it was. You took an altogether +wrong view of his--his death; a view which I hope you've seen fit to +change after a night's reflection." + +"You mean about Robert committing suicide?" + +Austin inclined his head. + +"I haven't changed my opinion in the slightest degree," she retorted. "I +am still quite convinced that Robert did not commit suicide." + +Austin darted an angry glance at her, but controlled himself with a +visible effort. "Have you reflected what that implies?" he asked in a low +tone. + +"What does it imply?" + +"Murder." He breathed the word with a hurried glance around him, as though +apprehensive of being overheard, but the lounge was empty, and they were +quite alone. + +"I am aware of that." + +"Then is it still your intention to go to the police with this terrible +suspicion?" he asked, in a voice that trembled with agitation. + +It was on the tip of Mrs. Pendleton's tongue to reply that she had already +been to the police, but she decided to withhold that piece of information +until she had heard all that her brother had to say. + +"Certainly," she replied. + +"Then you must be mad," was his indignant rejoinder. "Have you considered +the scandal this will entail upon us all?" + +"Not half such a scandal as that Robert should be murdered and his family +permit the crime to go unpunished." + +"I do not think that you have given this matter sufficient consideration. +It is for that reason I have come to see you this morning--before you take +action which you may have reason to regret later on. I want you to think +it over carefully, apart from a mere feminine prejudice against the +possibility of a member of the family destroying himself. If you will +listen to me I think that I shall be able to convince you that Robert, +deplorable though it may seem, did actually commit suicide." + +"What's the use of going through all this again?" said Mrs. Pendleton +wearily. "Robert would not commit suicide." + +"Suicide is always difficult to explain. Nobody can say what impels a man +to it." + +"Robert had no reason to put an end to his life. He had everything to live +for--everything in front of him." + +"You cannot say that a man bordering on sixty has everything in front of +him. I know it's considered middle-aged in this misguided country, where +people will never face the facts of life, but in simple truth Robert had +finished with life to all intents and purposes." + +"You won't say that when you come to sixty yourself, Austin. Robert was a +great strong man, with years of activity before him. Besides, people don't +kill themselves because they are growing old." + +"I never suggested it. I was merely pointing out that Robert hadn't +everything in front of him, to use your own phrase." + +"In any case he would not have killed himself," replied Mrs. Pendleton +sharply. "Such a disgrace! He was the proudest of men, he would never have +done it." + +"You always hark back to that." There was faint irritation in Austin's +tone. + +"I really cannot get away from it, Austin. Can you conceive of any +reason?" + +"There was a reason in Robert's case. I did not mention it to you last +night in the presence of the police sergeant, but I told Dr. Ravenshaw, +and he is inclined to agree with me. Since then I have thought it over +carefully, and I am convinced that I am right." + +"What is the reason?" + +"You recall the disclosure Robert made to us yesterday afternoon?" + +"About his marriage and Sisily?" + +"Yes. It must have been very painful to Robert, more painful than we +imagine. It would come home to him later with stunning force--all that it +implied, I mean. At the time Robert did not foresee all the consequences +likely to ensue from it. It was likely to affect his claim for the title, +because he was bound to make it known. When he came to think it over he +must have realized that it would greatly prejudice his claim. A body like +the House of Lords would do their utmost to avoid bestowing an ancient +name on a man, who, by his own showing, lived with a married woman for +twenty-five years, and had an illegitimate daughter by her. These are +painful things to speak of, but they were bound to come out. My own +feeling is that Robert had a bitter awakening to these facts when it was +too late--when he had made the disclosure. And he may have felt remorse--" + +"Remorse for what?" + +"Remorse for giving the secret away and branding his daughter as +illegitimate on the day that her mother was buried. It has an ugly look, +Constance, there's no getting away from that." + +He lapsed into silence, and awaited the effect of his words. Mrs. +Pendleton pondered over them for some moments in manifest perturbation. +There was sufficient resemblance between Austin's conclusions and the +thoughts which had impelled her nocturnal visit to Flint House, to sway +her mind like a pendulum towards Austin's view. But that only lasted for a +moment. Then she thrust the thought desperately from her. + +"No, no; I cannot--I will not believe it!" she cried in an agitated voice. +"All this must have been in Robert's mind beforehand. His letters to me +about Sisily indicated that there were reasons why he wished me to take +charge of her. Robert had weighed the consequences of this disclosure, +Austin--I feel sure of that. He was a man who knew his own mind. How +carefully he outlined his plans to us yesterday! He was to appear before +the Investigations Committee next week to give evidence in support of his +claim to the title. And he told me that he was purchasing a portion of the +family estate at Great Missenden, and intended to live there. Is it +logical to suppose that he would terminate all these plans and ambitions +by destroying himself? I, for one, will never believe it. I have my own +thoughts and suspicions--" + +He turned a sudden searching glance on her. "Suspicions of whom?" + +"I took a dislike to that terrible man-servant of Robert's from the moment +I saw him," said Mrs. Pendleton, setting her chin firmly. + +This feminine flight was too swift for Austin Turold to follow. + +"What has that to do with what we are talking about?" he demanded. + +"When we reached the door last night it was Thalassa who let us in, with +his hat and coat on, ready to go out. There was something strange and +furtive about his manner, too, for I never took my eyes off him, and I'm +sure he had something on his mind. I'm quite convinced it was he who was +listening at the door yesterday afternoon. And he's got a wicked and +crafty face." + +"Good God!" ejaculated Austin Turold, as the full force of his sister's +impressions reached his mind. "Do you mean to say that because you took a +dislike to this unfortunate man's face, you think he has murdered Robert? +And yet there are some feminists who want to draw our judges from your +sex! My dear Constance, you cannot make haphazard accusations of murder in +this reckless fashion." + +"I am not accusing Thalassa of murder," said Mrs. Pendleton, with a fine +air of generosity. "And there's more than my dislike of his face in it, +too. He was looking through the door in the afternoon--" + +"You only think that," interrupted her brother. + +"I feel sure it was he. It was also strange to see him with his hat and +coat on when he answered our knock. He told Dr. Ravenshaw that he was +going to the churchtown for him." + +"That reminds me that I haven't yet heard what took you up to Flint House +last night, Constance," said her brother, looking at her fixedly. "What +were you doing there at that late hour, and why was Ravenshaw with you?" + +Mrs. Pendleton told him, and he listened coldly. "I think you might have +consulted me first before Dr. Ravenshaw," he observed. + +"I didn't because I thought you would have put obstacles in my way," she +replied with frankness. + +"I most certainly should. Of course the whole position may be altered now, +with Robert's death. Have you told Sisily?" + +"Yes. She took it almost passively. She is the strangest girl, but after +last night I look upon her as a sacred charge--Robert's last wish." + +"It will be best for you to take charge of her, I think," said Austin +absently. "I expect she is provided for in Robert's will. I found that in +the old clock case last night, and I've handed it to the local lawyer who +drew it up. But this is beside the point, Constance. I have come over here +this morning to beg of you to let this terrible business rest where it is. +There is not the slightest doubt in my mind that our unhappy brother has +ended his own life--all the facts point to it only too clearly--and I +particularly desire, for all our sakes, that you do nothing to put your +ill-informed suspicions into action. Let the thing drop." + +"It is too late," said Mrs. Pendleton decidedly. "I have already been to +the police. There is a detective from Scotland Yard on his way over from +Bodmin." + +"You might have told me this before and saved my time," said Austin, +rising with cold anger. "In my opinion you have acted most ill-advisedly. +However, it's too late to talk of that. No, there is no need to rise. I +can find my way out." + +Austin Turold left the hotel, and made his way up the crooked street to +the centre of the town. His way lay towards Market Jew Street, where he +intended to hire one of the waiting cabs to drive him back to St. Fair. As +he neared the top of the street which led to the square, his eye was +caught by the flutter of a woman's dress in one of the narrow old passages +which spindled crookedly off it. The wearer of the dress was his niece +Sisily. She was walking swiftly. A turn of the passage took her in the +direction of the Morrab Gardens, and he saw her no more. + +Her appearance in that secluded spot was unexpected, but at the moment +Austin Turold did not give it more than a passing thought. He hurried +across Market Jew Street and engaged a cabman to drive him home. + +The ancient vehicle jolted over the moor road in crawling ascent, and in +due time reached the spot where the straggling churchtown squatted among +boulders in the desolation of the moors, wanting but cave men to start up +from behind the great stones to complete the likeness to a village of the +stone age. The cab drifted along between the granite houses of a wide +street, like a ship which had lost its bearings, but cast anchor before +one where a few stunted garden growths bloomed in an ineffectual effort to +lessen the general aspect of appalling stoniness. Austin Turold paid the +cabman and walked into this house. He opened the door with his latchkey, +and ascended rapidly to the first floor. + +Lunch was set for two in the room which he entered, and Charles Turold was +seated at the table, turning over the pages of a book. He glanced up +expectantly, and his lips formed one word-- + +"Well?" + +"It is not well," was the testy response. "My charming sister has called +in the assistance of Scotland Yard. You'll have to stay. We've got to face +this thing out." + +His son received this piece of news with a pale face. "You should have +foreseen this last night," he said. + +"I saw Sisily in Penzance--near the gardens." + +"Where was she going?" asked Charles, flushing slightly. + +"I really cannot say. You should be better acquainted with her movements +than I," was the ironical response. "You do not suppose I have been +altogether blind to your infatuation, do you? If you choose to go walking +and flirting with a girl on Cornish moors you must expect to be observed. +As a matter of fact I thought it rather a good move on your part, until I +learnt the secret of Sisily's birth." + +"I tell you I won't stand this," exclaimed Charles, springing up from the +table. + +"Won't?" said his father. "You carry things with a high hand--Jonathan." +His look dwelt coldly on his son. "Do not be a fool. Sit down and let us +have lunch, and we'll discuss afterwards what's best to be done." + + + + +CHAPTER XII + + +With a slightly incredulous air Inspector Dawfield placed his London +colleague in possession of his own knowledge of the facts of the case, +based on the statements made to him by Mrs. Pendleton that morning and the +facts as set forth in Sergeant Pengowan's report. + +Detective Barrant listened attentively, with the air of a man smiling to +himself. He was not actually doing so, but that was the impression +conveyed by his keen bright eyes. He was a Londoner, with an assured +manner, and the conviction that his intelligence was equal to any call +which might be made upon it. By temperament he was restless, but his work +had given him a philosophical outlook which in some measure counterpoised +that defect by causing him to realize that life was a tricky and deceptive +business in which intelligence counted for more than action in the long +run. He had a wider outlook and more shrewdness than the average +detective, and he already felt a keen interest in the case he had been +called in to investigate. + +When the inspector had finished his story he picked up the blue foolscap +on which was inscribed the sprawling report of the churchtown sergeant. +With a severe effort he mastered the matter contained under the flowing +curves and flourishes. + +"The local man seems certain that it is suicide," he said, "but the +sister's statement certainly calls for further investigation. How far away +is this place?" + +"Flint House? About five miles across the moors. I've hired a motor-car to +drive you up. Nothing has been disturbed so far. As soon as I learnt you +were coming I telephoned to Pengowan to leave things as they were until +you arrived." + +Barrant nodded approval. "Let us go," he said. + +The car was waiting outside. The way lay through the town and then across +the moors in undulating ascent until at the highest point a rough track +crossed the road at a spot where four parishes met. On one side of these +cross-roads was a Druidical stone circle, and on the other was a wayside +cross to the memory of an Irish female saint who had crossed to Cornwall +as a missionary in the tenth century, after first recording a holy vow +that she would not change her shift until she had redeemed the whole of +the Cornish natives from idolatry. + +From the cross-roads the way again inclined downward to the sea in +increasing savageness of desolation. Stones littered the purple surface of +the moors, or rose in insecure heaps on the steep slopes, as though piled +there by the hands of the giants supposed to have once roved these gloomy +wilds. Solitude held sway, but there was more than solitude in that lonely +aspect: something prehistoric and unknown, unearthly, incomprehensible. +Cairn Brea and the Hill of Fires brooded in the distance; the remains of a +Druid's altar showed darkly on the summit of a nearer hill. No sound broke +the stillness except the faint and distant sobbing of the sea. + +St. Fair lay almost hidden in a bend or fold of the moors about a mile +before them, and beyond it Dawfield pointed out to his companion Flint +House, standing in gaunt outline on a tongue of coast thrust defiantly +into the restless waters of the Atlantic. + +"A lonely weird place," said Barrant, eyeing his surroundings attentively. +"An ideal setting for a mysterious crime." + +They drove on in silence until they reached the churchtown. Inspector +Dawfield steered the car to the modest dwelling of Sergeant Pengowan, whom +they found at his gate awaiting their arrival--a shaggy figure of a rural +policeman of the Cornish Celtic variety, with no trace of Spanish or +Italian ancestry in his florid face, inquisitively Irish blue-grey eyes, +reddish whiskers, and burly frame. + +Inspector Dawfield bade him good-day, and added the information that his +companion was Detective Barrant, of Scotland Yard. Pengowan greeted +Barrant with the respect due to the name of Scotland Yard, and took a +humble seat at the back of the car. + +They went on again, and in a few minutes the car stopped at the end of the +rough moor track, close to where the black cliffs dropped to the grey sea. + +Flint House rose solitary before them, perched with an air of bravado upon +the granite ledge, as though defying the west wind which blustered around +it. The unfastened gate which led to the little path banged noisily in the +breeze, but the house seemed steeped in desolation. A face peeped +furtively at them from a front window as they approached. They heard a +shuffling footstep and the drawing of a bolt, and the door was opened by a +withered little woman who looked at them with silent inquiry. + +"Where's your husband?" asked Sergeant Pengowan. + +She glanced timidly up the stairs behind her, and they saw Thalassa +descending as though in answer to the question. He scanned the police +officers with a cautious eye. Barrant returned the look with a keen +observation which took in the externals of the man who was the object of +Mrs. Pendleton's suspicions. + +"You are the late Mr. Turold's servant?" he said. + +"Put it that way if you like," was the response. "Who might you be?" + +Barrant did not deign to reply to this inquiry. "Take us upstairs," he +said. + +"Pengowan wants us to look at the outside first," said Dawfield, but +Barrant was already mounting the stairs. + +"You do so," he called back, over his shoulder. "I'll go up." + +At the top of the staircase he waited until Thalassa reached him. "Where +are Mr. Turold's rooms?" he asked. + +Thalassa pointed with a long arm into the dim vagueness of the passage. +"Down there," he said, "at the end. The study on the right, the bedroom +opposite." + +"Very well. You need not come any further." + +The old man's eyes travelled slowly upward to the detective's face, but +he kept his ground. + +"Did you hear me?" Barrant asked sharply. "You can go downstairs again." + +Again the other's eyes sought his face with a brooding contemplative look. +Then he turned sullenly away with moving lips, as though muttering +inarticulate words, leaving Barrant standing on the landing, watching his +slow descent. + +When he was quite sure that he was gone, Barrant turned down the +passage-way. He had his reasons for wishing to be alone. The value of a +vivid first impression, the effect of concentration necessary to reproduce +the scene to the eyes of imagination, the mental arrangement of the facts +in their proper order and conformity--these were things which were liable +to be broken into by the disturbing presence of others, by the vexatious +interruption of loudly proffered explanations. + +He knew all the facts that Inspector Dawfield and Sergeant Pengowan could +impart. He knew of Robert Turold's long quest for the lost title, the +object of his visit to Cornwall, his near attainment to success, his +summons to his family to receive the news. In short, he was aware of the +whole sequence of events preceding Robert Turold's violent and mysterious +death, with the exception of the revelation of his life's secret, which +Mrs. Pendleton had withheld from Inspector Dawfield. Barrant had heard all +he wanted to know at second hand at that stage of his investigations, and +he now preferred to be guided by his own impressions and observations. + +His professional interest in the case had been greatly quickened by his +first sight of Flint House. Never had he seen anything so weird and wild. +The isolation of the place, perched insecurely on the edge of the rude +cliffs, among the desolation of the rocks and moors, breathed of mystery +and hinted at hidden things. But who would find the way to such a lonely +spot to commit murder, if murder had been committed? + +Reaching the end of the long passage, he first turned towards the study on +the right. The smashed door swung creakingly back to his push, revealing +the interior of the room where Robert Turold had met his death. Barrant +entered, and closed the broken door behind him. It was here, if anywhere, +that he might chance to find some clue which would throw light on the +cause. + +The profusion of papers which met his eye, piled on the table and filling +the presses and shelves which lined the musty room, seemed, at the outset, +to give ground for the hope that such an expectation might be realized. +But they merely formed, in their mass, a revelation of Robert Turold's +industry in gathering material for his claim. There were genealogical +tables without number, a philology of the two names Turold and Turrald, +extracts of parish registers and corporation records, copies from +inscriptions from tombstones and mural monuments, copied pedigrees from +the British Museum and the great English collections, a host of old deeds +and wills, and other mildewed records of perished hands. But they all +seemed to have some bearing on the quest to which Robert Turold had +sacrificed the years of his manhood. + +He had died as he lived, engrossed in the labour of his life. A copy of +Burke's "Vicissitudes of Families" was lying open on the table, and beside +it were two sheets of foolscap, covered with notes in thin irregular +handwriting. The first of these depicted the arms of the Turrald family, +as originally selected at the first institution of heraldry, and the +quarterings of the heiresses who had married into the family at a later +date. + +The second sheet was headed "Devonian and Cornwall branch of the Turolds," +and contained notes of Robert Turold's ancestral discoveries in that spot. +The notes were not finished, but ended abruptly in the middle of a +sentence: "It is necessary to make it clea--" + +Those were the last words the dead man had written. He had dropped the +pen, which lay beside the paper, without finishing the word "clear." + +The sight of this unfinished sheet kindled Barrant's imagination, and he +stood thoughtful, considering the meaning of it. Was it the attitude of a +man who had committed suicide? Was it conceivable that Robert Turold would +break off in the middle of a sentence, in the middle of a word, and shoot +himself? It seemed a strange thing to do, but Barrant's experience told +him that there were no safe deductions where suicides were concerned. They +acted with the utmost precipitation or the utmost deliberation. Some wound +up their worldly affairs with businesslike precision before embarking on +their timeless voyage, others jumped into the black gulf without, +apparently, any premeditated intention, as if at the beckoning summons of +some grisly invisible hand which they dared not disobey. Barrant recalled +the strange case of a wealthy merchant who had cut his throat on a Bank +holiday and confessed before death that he had felt the same impulse on +that day for years past. He had whispered that the day marked to him such +a pause in life's dull round that it seemed to him a pity to start again. +He had resisted the impulse for years, but it had waxed stronger with each +recurring anniversary, and had overcome him at last. + +Every suicide was a law unto himself. Barrant willingly conceded that, but +he could not so easily concede that a man like Robert Turold would put an +end to his life just when he was about to attain the summit of that life's +ambition. It was a Schopenhauerian doctrine that all men had suicidal +tendencies in them, in the sense that every man wished at times for the +cessation of the purposeless energy called life, and it was only the +violence of the actual act which prevented its more frequent commission. +But Barrant reflected that in his experience suicides were generally +people who had been broken by life or were bored with it. Men of action or +intellect rarely committed suicide, not because they valued life highly, +but because they had so much to do in their brief span that they hadn't +time to think about putting an end to it. Death usually overtook them in +the midst of their schemes. + +Robert Turold was not a man of intellect or action, but he belonged to a +type which, as a rule, cling to life: the type from which zealots and +bigots spring--men with a single idea. Such men shrink from the idea of +destroying the vital engine by which their idea is driven forward. Their +ego is too pronounced for that. + +It was true that Robert Turold believed he had realized the aim for which +he had lived, and therefore, in a sense, had nothing more to live for. But +that point of view was too coldly logical for human nature. Its +presumption was only applicable to a higher order of beings. No man had +ever committed suicide upon achieving the summit of an ambition. There +were always fresh vistas opening before the human mind. + +Barrant left the study for the opposite room where the body of Robert +Turold had been taken. It was his bedroom, and he had been laid upon the +bed. + +Death had not come to him easily. His harsh features were set in a stern +upward frown, and the lower lip was slightly caught between the teeth, as +though bitten in the final rending of the spirit. But Barrant had seen too +much of violent death to be repelled by any death mask, however repellent. + +He eyed the corpse closely, and then proceeded to examine the death wound. +In doing so he had to move the body, and a portion of the sleeve fell +back, exposing the left arm to the elbow. Barrant was about to replace it +when his eye lighted upon a livid mark on the arm. He rolled back the +garment until the arm lay bare to the shoulder. The disclosure revealed +four faint livid marks running parallel across the arm, just above the +elbow. + +The arms had been straightened to the body to the elbows, and then crossed +decorously on the breast. Barrant walked round to the other side of the +bed, knelt down by the edge of it, and examined the underneath part of the +arm. A single livid mark was imprinted upon it. + +The inference was unmistakable. The four upper marks were fingerprints, +and the lower one a thumb mark. Somebody had caught the dead man's arm in +such a strenuous grip that the livid impression had remained after death. + +The discovery was significant enough, but Barrant was not at that moment +prepared to say how much it portended. It seemed certain that the marks +had not been made by Robert Turold himself. Their position suggested a +left-hand clutch, though only a finger-print expert could definitely +determine that point. Even if they were not, it was too far-fetched a +supposition to imagine a man gripping his own arm hard enough to bruise +it. + +The relative weight of this discovery was, in Barrant's mind, weakened by +the fact that the marks might have been caused by the persons who had +carried the body from the next room. Nevertheless, the marks must be +regarded as infirmative testimony, however slight, of the fallibility of +the circumstantial deductions which had been made from the discovery of +the body in a locked room, with windows which could not be reached from +the outside. + +The presumption of suicide rested on the theory that the circumstances +excluded any other hypothesis. But Barrant reflected that he did not know +enough about the case to accept that assumption as warranted by the facts. +The one certainty was that the study could not have been reached from the +outside. Barrant had noted the back windows before entering the house; his +subsequent interior examination had strengthened his conviction that they +were inaccessible. Underneath the study windows there was only the +narrowest ledge of rock between that side of the house and the edge of the +cliffs. A descent from the windows with a rope was hazardously possible, +but ascent and entrance by that means was out of the question. + +On the other hand, the theory of interior inaccessibility had a flaw in +it, due to the presence of five different people in the room before the +police arrived. Their actions and motives would have to be most carefully +weighed and sifted before the implication of the discovery of the +finger-marks could be determined. + +The rather breathless entrance of Inspector Dawfield put an end to +Barrant's reflections. He explained that Sergeant Pengowan, in his anxiety +to maintain the correctness of his official report, had taken him to +various breakneck positions at the back of the house and along the cliffs +in order to demonstrate the impossibility of anybody entering Robert +Turold's rooms from outside. The sergeant was at that moment engaged in a +room downstairs drawing up his reasons for that belief. "A kind of +confirmatory report," Dawfield explained. "He fears that his reputation is +at stake." + +"He can save himself the trouble," said Barrant. "The solution of Robert +Turold's death lies in these two rooms, if anywhere." + +Something in his companion's tone caused Inspector Dawfield to direct an +interrogative glance at him. "Have you discovered something?" he asked. + +"Finger-marks on the left arm, a left-hand impression, I should say." + +He drew back the loose sleeve of the dead man, and Dawfield examined the +marks attentively. "This is strange," he said. "It looks suspicious." + +"Strange enough, and certainly suspicious. The point is, is it suspicious +enough to upset the theory of suicide? The marks are too faint to enable +us to determine whether they are of recent origin. But I think that we +must assume that they are. It has occurred to me that they may have been +caused when the body was picked up from the floor of the other room and +carried in here." + +"In that case the marks would have been underneath the arm. In lifting a +heavy weight like a corpse it would be natural to place the hands under +the shoulders, for greater lifting power." + +"There's something in that, but it's by no means certain. It would depend +on the position of the body. According to Pengowan's report, Robert Turold +was found lying face downward. The body would have to be turned over +before it was lifted, and the grip might have been made in pulling it +over. We must find that out." + +"It's a point which can be settled at once by questioning Thalassa. He +helped Pengowan carry the body into this room." + +"That is the very thing I do not wish to do," rejoined Barrant quickly. +"We have to remember that Thalassa is, for the time being, suspect. Mrs. +Pendleton's suspicions of him may be based on the slightest foundation, +but we are bound to keep them in mind." + +"Do you not intend to question him at all?" + +"Not at present. His attitude when he brought me upstairs was that of a +man on his guard, expecting to be questioned. I saw that at once, and +decided to say nothing to him. I will take him by surprise later on, when +he is off his guard, and if he is keeping anything back I may be able to +get it out of him. But we must not be too quick in drawing the conclusion +that those marks were made by him." + +"What makes you say so?" asked Inspector Dawfield. + +"Thalassa has a long bony hand, with fingers thickened by rough work. I +noticed it when he was pointing to these rooms from the passage. This grip +looks as if it might have been made by a smaller hand, with slim fingers. +Look how close together the marks are! Unfortunately, that's about all +we're likely to deduce from them, and I doubt if a finger-print expert +will be able to help us. Observe, there are no finger-prints--merely faint +marks of the middle of the fingers, and a kind of blur for the thumb. But +the thing is suspicious, undoubtedly suspicious." + +"Still, the door was locked from inside," said Dawfield. "We mustn't lose +sight of that fact." + +"And the key was found in the room. We must also remember that there were +several people in the room after the door was burst open, including the +dead man's brother. It seems that it was he who first propounded the +suicide theory to Dr. Ravenshaw, and subsequently to Pengowan. Do you know +anything about the brother?" + +"I know nothing personally. Pengowan tells me that Robert Turold secured +lodgings for his brother and his son in an artist's house at the +churchtown about six weeks ago. They arrived next day, and are still +there. I understand that the brothers have been in pretty close intimacy, +meeting each other practically every day, either at the churchtown or in +this house." + +"Do you know what took place at the family gathering which was held in +this house yesterday afternoon, after the funeral?" + +"All I know is that Robert Turold informed his family that he was likely +to succeed in his claim for the title. Mrs. Pendleton was rather vague +about the details, but she did say that her brother had placed his +daughter in her charge, and had made a long statement to them about his +future plans." + +"She did not indicate what those plans were?" + +"Only in the vaguest way. I remember her saying that her brother was a +wealthy man: the one wealthy member of the family, was the way she put it. +Her principal preoccupation was her suspicion of the man-servant, based on +seeing him listening at the door. She was very voluble and excited--so +much so that I did not attach much importance to what she said, and did +not ask her many questions." + +"It is of the utmost importance that we should find out all we can about +this family council yesterday. It is possible that it may throw some light +on Robert Turold's death. I am not prepared at present to say whether it +is suicide or not, but apart from any suspicious circumstances, I feel +that there is some justification for Mrs. Pendleton's belief that a +wealthy and successful man like her brother was not likely to take his own +life, unless there was some hidden reason for him to do so. If we knew +more of what happened downstairs yesterday we might be in a better +position to judge of that. The case strikes me as a very peculiar +one--indeed, it has some remarkable features. My first task will be to +interview all the persons who were present at yesterday's gathering. Can +you tell me if the brothers were on good terms?" + +"I believe so." + +"Is Austin Turold a poor man?" + +"I know nothing about him. But what has that got to do with it?" + +"It may have much to do with it. He may have stood to inherit a fortune +from Robert." + +"You surely do not suspect the brother?" + +"I suspect no one, at present," returned Barrant. "I am merely glancing at +the scanty facts within our knowledge and seeing what can be gathered from +them. Robert Turold is found dead in his study, with his hands on an old +clock, where he kept important papers, including his will. We are indebted +to Austin Turold for that knowledge. But how did Austin Turold come to +know that his brother kept his will in the clock-case? Did Robert tell +him, or did he find it out? Was Austin aware of the contents of the will? +Why did Robert go to the clock? Was his idea to destroy the will? And was +that after or before he was shot, or shot himself? + +"These are questions we cannot answer without further knowledge, but they +seem to point to the existence of some family secret of which we know +nothing. We must find out what it is. I shall first interview Austin +Turold, and then call on Dr. Ravenshaw, if time permits. You'd better drop +me at the churchtown on your way back to Penzance. There's really nothing +to detain you any longer." + +They returned to the churchtown in the motor-car, and Pengowan from the +back seat directed the way to Austin Turold's lodgings. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + +"Oh yes, I'm modern enough," said Austin Turold, balancing his cigarette +in his white fingers, and glancing at Barrant with a reflective air--"that +is to say, I believe in America and the League of Nations, but not in God. +It's not the fashion to believe in God or have a conscience nowadays. They +both went out with the war. After all, what's a conscience to a liver? But +here I am, chattering on to distract my sad thoughts, although I can see +in your eye that you have it in you to ask me some questions. Well, go +ahead and ask them, and I will answer them--if I can." + +"I do wish to ask you some questions," said Barrant--"questions connected +with your brother's death." + +"I know very little about it. It was a most terrible shock to me, I assure +you, and is likely to detain me in this barbarous place longer than I +intended--greatly against my will." + +"I understand you came to Cornwall at your brother's request?" + +"Yes. My brother sent for me and my son more than a month ago, so we came +at once. I'll forestall the further inquiry I see on your lips, and tell +you why I came so promptly. My brother Robert was the wealthy member of +the family, and I was the poor one--a poor devil of an Anglo-Indian with +nothing on this side of the grave but a niggardly Civil Service pension! + +"When we arrived I found that Robert had already taken these lodgings for +us, which was as near as he could get accommodation to his own house. I +did not object to that arrangement, because I do not like hotels +nowadays--not since the newly-rich started to patronize them. So here I've +been rusticating ever since, conferring daily with my poor brother, and +eating the four meals a day which are provided with the lodgings by the +estimable people of this house. My landlord is an artist. That is to say, +he's forever daubing pictures which nobody buys. I've come to the +conclusion that most people dislike Cornwall because of the number of bad +pictures which are painted here. You see some samples of my host's brush +on these walls. They are actually too bad to be admitted to the Academy. +My poor host and hostess, being unable to make ends meet, were obliged to +take in lodgers. The fact, however, is not unduly obtruded. We discuss Art +at night, and not the scandalously high price of food. I get on very well, +but then I can adapt myself to any society. I pride myself on being a +philosopher. But my son is not so facile. My worthy entertainers regard +him as a Philistine, and bestow very little of their attention upon him. +He spends his time in taking long walks through the wilds. He is out +walking at present. I am sorry he is not here." + +The conversation was suspended by the entrance of an elderly maid servant +with a long and melancholy white face, thickly braided hair, strongly +marked black eyebrows, wearing a black dress with white apron, and a white +bow in her hair, who came to ask if Mr. Turold required any more tea. On +learning that he did not she withdrew as noiselessly as she had entered. + +"I see you are looking at our parlour-maid," said Austin Turold, following +the direction of his visitor's glance. + +"She's a strange sort of parlour-maid," admitted the detective. "She +reminds me of--of--" + +"A study in black and white," suggested his host. "Her face is her +fortune. She's sitting to Brierly--that's my host--for his latest effort. +He's painting her as the Madonna or Britannia--I really forget which. A +new type, you know. The servants in this house are engaged for their +faces. They had a villainous scoundrel of a man-servant--a returned +soldier--engaged as Judas Iscariot, who bolted last week with the silver +spoons. But all this is beside the point, Mr. Barrant, and I must not +waste your time. You have come here for a specific purpose--to turn me +inside out. What can I tell you?" + +"I want to know all that you can tell me about your brother's death," said +the other, with emphasis. + +"But what can I tell you that you do not already know?" exclaimed Austin, +raising his eyebrows with a helpless look. "Ask me what questions you +like, and I'll endeavour to answer them. When the famous Detective +Barrant--for I understand from the newspapers that you are famous--takes +an interview in hand I expect him to handle the situation in a masterly +fashion, as befits his reputation. So ask your questions, my dear fellow, +and I'll do my utmost to respond." Austin Turold took off his glasses, and +posed himself in an attitude of expectation, with his eyes fixed upon the +detective's face. + +Barrant eyed the elder man with a puzzled curiosity which was tolerably +masked by official impassivity. Barrant had his own methods of +investigation and inquiry. He brought an alert intelligence, a seeing eye, +and a false geniality to bear in his work. Unversed in elaborate +deduction, he flattered himself that he knew enough about human nature to +strike the balance of probabilities in almost any case. His cardinal +article of faith was that there was nothing like getting on good terms +with those he was interviewing in order to find out things. Most people +were on their guard against detectives, who too often took advantage of +their position to assume offensive airs of intimidation, whereas the great +thing was to disarm suspicion by a friendly manner. Barrant had cultivated +pleasantness with considerable success. Some who were not good judges of +physiognomy were apt to overlook the watchful eyes in his smiling affable +presence, and talk freely--sometimes too freely, as they later on +discovered to their cost. A chance word, a significant phrase, was +sufficient to set him burrowing underground with the activity of a mole, +to burst into the open later on with all his clues complete, to the +confusion of the trusting person with an unguarded tongue. + +He had put these tactics into execution with Austin Turold. Austin, taking +tea when he called, in a bright blue room hung with pictures, had received +his visitor with a charming cordiality, insisted on his taking tea with +him, and then let loose a flood of small-talk, as though he were delighted +with his visitor. His welcome was so perfect, his manners so gracefully +unforced, that Barrant had an uneasy suspicion that he was being beaten at +his own game, and was slightly out of countenance in consequence. Up to +that moment he could not, for the life of him, decide whether Austin +Turold's polished self-assurance was a mask or not. It seemed too natural +to be assumed. + +"Your own opinion is that your brother committed suicide?" he asked again. + +"No other conclusion is possible, in my mind." + +"But did he have any reason, that you know of, to commit suicide?" + +Austin shrugged his shoulders. "Suicide is not usually associated with +reason," he observed. "But in Robert's case there is a reason, or so it +seems to me. I have not seen him for many years, but during my recent +close association with him I was struck by two things: the solitary +aloofness of his mind, and his overwhelming pride--pride in the family +name. These two traits in his character coloured all his actions. In the +first place, he disliked opening his mind to anybody, but the stronger +influence, his family pride, overcame his habitual secretiveness when he +thought it necessary and desirable to do so in furtherance of his darling +ambition--the restoration of this title. Men who lead a solitary, +self-contained life, like my brother, become introspective and +ultra-sensitive, and face any intimate personal revelation with the utmost +reluctance. They will nerve themselves to it when the occasion absolutely +requires, but the after effects--the mental self-probings, the agonized +self torture that a self-conscious proud man can inflict on himself when +he comes to analyze the effects of his disclosure on other minds, are +sometimes unendurable." + +Austin put forward this analysis of his brother's state of mind with a +gravity which was in complete contrast with the light airiness of his +tea-table gossip, and Barrant felt that he was speaking with sincerity. + +"Yes, I can understand that," he said with a thoughtful nod. + +"I think that is what happened in my brother's case, when he felt called +upon to reveal, as he did yesterday, a shameful family secret which hurt +him in his strongest point--his family pride." + +"Stop a minute," interrupted Barrant, in a surprised voice. "I really do +not follow you here. What is this shameful secret to which you refer?" + +Austin Turold looked surprised in his turn. "It had to do with his +marriage and his daughter's legitimacy," he slowly replied. "Surely my +sister imparted this to the Penzance police inspector, when she besought +his assistance?" + +"I know nothing about it," replied Barrant quickly and emphatically. "I +shall be glad if you will tell me." + +"Certainly." + +Austin Turold related the story of his brother's disclosure. Again +he spoke in careful grave words, and with a manner completely divested of +any trace of his habitual flippancy. + +"It appears to me that this revelation must have had a very painful effect +on Robert's mind," he added. "You must remember that he was an abnormal +type. An ordinary man would not have made such a disclosure on the day of +the funeral of the woman who was supposed to be his wife. But all Robert's +acts hinged on his one great obsession. He allowed nothing to come between +him and his one ambition--not even his wife (let us call her so) and +child. But it would come home to him afterwards--I mean the normal point +of view--the way the world would regard such a disclosure--and I have no +doubt that his belated mental anguish and morbid thoughts impelled him to +take his life. Understand me, Mr. Barrant, I do not mean that he did this +through remorse, but through the blow to his pride. He couldn't face the +racket--the gossip, the notoriety and all the rest of it." + +"But according to your story, your brother had nothing to blame himself +for," said Barrant. "You say that he was ignorant of this earlier marriage +until recently?" + +"Public sentiment will not look at it that way. People will say he +sacrificed a dead woman and his daughter to his own selfish ends--threw +them over when he had attained his ambition. That's what came home to him, +in my opinion." + +"I see." Barrant was silent for a while, turning this over in all its +bearings. "Yes. There may be something in that point of view. But did not +your brother confide this story to you before yesterday?" + +"When we were alone together during the last few days he frequently seemed +on the point of telling me something. I could see that by his manner. But +he never got beyond a certain portentousness, as it were. It's my belief +now that he wanted to tell me, but couldn't quite bring himself to it. I +am very sorry that he didn't." + +"Do you know how long your brother has been aware of this earlier +marriage?" + +"Quite recently, I believe. He gave us to understand yesterday that it was +a death-bed confession." + +"Are there any proofs of the earlier marriage?" + +"I am afraid I cannot enlighten you on that point either." + +"This is very strange," said Barrant. "The proofs are very important. This +disclosure vitally affected your brother's ambitions, and was therefore +likely to influence his views regarding the disposition of his property." + +He shot a keen glance at his companion. Austin laid aside his glasses and +bent earnestly across the table. + +"I will be frank with you," he said, "quite frank. My brother told me a +little more than a week ago that he had made a new will, and that I was +his heir." + +"Where is this will?" + +"I found it in the clock-case at Flint House last night, and I have since +handed it to the lawyer who drafted it." + +"Your brother gave you no indication of this before?" + +"No. He told me when I came that he had summoned me to Cornwall because of +the great change in the family fortunes. As I was his only brother he +desired my presence in the investigation of the final proofs and the +preparation of his claim for the House of Lords. Nothing was said about +the succession then. Robert was very excited, and talked only of his own +future. I feel sure that he was not then thinking of who was to succeed to +the title after his death. He looked forward to enjoying it himself. I +certainly did not give it a thought, either. Who could have foreseen this +tragic event?" + +"Do you know anything about this peerage?" + +"Not till latterly. I never took it seriously, like Robert. I looked upon +it as a family fiction. I understand that the Turrald barony was a barony +by writ--whatever that may be. The point is that if my brother had lived +to restore it, the title, on his death, would have descended to his only +daughter, if she had been born in wedlock. As she is illegitimate, the +title would have descended to me, and after me to my son." + +"You were here last night when they brought you the news of your brother's +death, I understand?" remarked Barrant, in a casual sort of way. + +"Yes; I did not go out again after I returned from the funeral." + +"Was your son home with you?" + +"Most of the time. He came in later than I, and then went out for a walk +when the storm cleared away. I did not see him again until this morning. +Thalassa came for me with the news of my brother's death, and I did not +get back from Flint House until very late." + +"I suppose you are aware your sister does not share your view that your +brother committed suicide?" + +"I understand she has some absurd suspicion about Thalassa, my brother's +servant." + +"Why do you call her suspicion absurd?" asked Barrant cautiously. + +"It is more than absurd," replied Austin warmly. "I am ashamed to think +that my sister should have given utterance to such a dreadful thought +against a faithful old servant who has been with Robert for half a +lifetime, and was devoted to him." + +"Mrs. Pendleton saw him looking through the door." + +"She only thought so. She went to the door immediately to find out who it +was, but there was nobody there." + +"Do you think she imagined it?" + +"No; I think somebody was there, but it is by no means certain that it was +Thalassa. It might have been Thalassa's wife. It might even have been +Robert's daughter." + +"Was not Miss Turold present at the family gathering?" + +"No; my brother naturally did not wish her to be present, and she went +upstairs. She went out while we were in the room. The door was slightly +open, and she may have glanced in as she passed." + +"But this person was listening." + +Austin Turold shrugged his shoulders. + +"Was your brother talking about his marriage at the time?" + +"Yes." + +"Could Miss Turold have heard what he was saying?" + +"Anybody could. The door was partly open." + +"There is some mystery here." + +Barrant spoke with the thoughtful air of one viewing a new vista opening +in the distance. These surmises about the listener at the door, by their +manifest though perhaps unintended implication, pointed to a deeper and +more terrible mystery than he had imagined. + +Austin Turold did not speak. Darkness had long since fallen, and a lamp, +which had been brought in by the maid who was also the model, stood on the +table between the two men, and threw its shaded beams on their faces. A +clock on the mantel-piece chimed eight, and aroused Barrant to the flight +of time. + +"I must get back," he said. "I intended to see Dr. Ravenshaw, but I shall +leave that until later. Can I get a conveyance back to Penzance?" + +"There is a public wagonette. I am not sure when it goes, but it starts +from 'The Three Jolly Wreckers' at the other end of the churchtown." + +"'The Three Jolly Wreckers!' That's rather a cynical name for a Cornish +inn, isn't it?" + +"Oh, the Cornish people are not ashamed of the old wrecking days, I assure +you." + +He accompanied Barrant to the door with the lamp, which he held above his +head to light him down the garden path. Barrant, glancing back, saw him +looking after him, his face outlined in the darkness by the yellow rays of +the lamp. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + + +Barrant found the inn at the dark end of a stone alley, with the sound of +tipsy singing and shuffling feet coming through the half-open door. He +made his way up three granite steps into a side-entrance, catching a +glimpse through a glass partition of shaggy red faces and pint pots +floating in a fog of tobacco smoke. A stout landlord leaned behind the bar +watching his customers with the tolerant smile of a man who was making a +living out of their merriment. He straightened himself as he caught sight +of Barrant, and opened the sliding window. The detective inquired about +the wagonette, and learnt that it had not yet arrived. + +"The roouds is rough, and old Garge Crows takes his time," said the +landlord, eyeing Barrant with a heavy stare. "'Tain't as thow 'e had a +passel of passergers to be teeren rownd after." + +"Can you give me some supper while I'm waiting?" + +"Sooper?" The innkeeper scratched his chin doubtfully. "'Tis late in the +ebenin' to be getting sooper. There's nawthing greut in the howse. You +could 'ave some tay--p'raps an egg." + +"That will do." + +The innkeeper roared forth a summons, which was answered by a rugged +Cornish lass from the kitchen. She cast a doubtful glance on the young man +when she learnt what was required, and took him into a small sitting-room, +where she left him to gaze at his leisure upon a framed portrait of Cecil +Rhodes, a stuffed gannet in a large glass case, and a stuffed badger in a +companion case on the other side of the wall. In about twenty minutes she +returned with a tray, and placed before the detective a couple of eggs, +some bread and butter, saffron cake, and a pot of tea. The eggs were of +peculiar mottled exterior, and when tasted had such a strong fish-like +flavour as to suggest that they might have been laid by the gannet in its +lifetime, and stowed away by a careful Cornish housewife until some +stranger chanced to visit that remote spot. Barrant was hungry enough to +gulp them down, though with a wry face. He had just finished a second cup +of very strong tea when he heard the clatter of a vehicle outside, and the +girl thrust a tousled dark head through the door to announce the arrival +of Mr. Crows and his wagonette. + +Barrant paid for his food and went out. An ancient hooded vehicle filled +the narrow way, drawn by a large shaggy horse which turned a gleaming eye +on the detective as he emerged, and snorted loudly, as though resenting +the prospect of having to drag his additional weight back to the town. The +driver sat motionless on the box, watching the caperings of the tipsy +tin-miners through the half-open door: a melancholy death'shead of a man, +with a preternaturally long white face, and a figure shrouded in a dark +cloak, looking as though he might be Death itself, waiting for the +carousers to drop dead of apoplexy before carrying them off in his +funereal equipage. In reply to Barrant's question he informed him that the +vehicle was destined for Penzance, and immediately the detective entered +the dark interior he drove off with disconcerting suddenness, as though he +had been waiting for him only, and was determined to make sure of him +before he had time to escape. + +The shaggy horse lumbered forward at an unwilling trot, like an animal +disillusioned with life. Soon they cleared the churchtown and entered the +darkness of the moors. A long and tiring day disposed Barrant to slumber. +He had begun to nod sleepily when the wagonette stopped with a jerk which +shook him into wakefulness. He was able to make out that they had reached +the highest elevation of the moors--the cross-roads from where Inspector +Dawfield had shown him Flint House in the distance that afternoon. He +could just discern the outlines of the wayside cross and the old Druidical +monolith, both pointing to the silent heavens in unwonted religious amity. + +"Good ebenen', Garge." A lusty voice hailed out of the darkness, and then +Barrant was aware of somebody entering the wagonette, a large male body +which plumped heavily on his knees as it started again. + +"Bed pardin, I'm sure. Aw dedn't knaw Crows had another passenger +to-night." A husky voice spoke unseen. "'Taint often it 'appens." There +was the splutter of a match, and as it flared up Barrant saw a pair of +twinkling grey eyes regarding him from a brown and rugged face. "Old Garge +never reckons on haavin' passengers back by th' laast wagonette, so 'e +never lights up inside. I'll make a light now, then we'll be more +comfortable." He struck another match and lit the candle in the wagonette +lamp, and was revealed to Barrant's eyes as a stout and pleasant-faced man +of fifty or so, with something seamanlike, or at least boatmanlike, in his +appearance. He gave the detective a smile and a nod, and added, "Old Crows +is fullish mean about candles." + +"It's a wonder he drives the wagonette at all, if there is no demand for +it," remarked Barrant. + +"Aw, there's a'plenty demand for it--always lots of passergers except by +this one," rejoined the man in the blue suit. "You'd be surprised how +people gets about in these paarts." He was studying the detective's face +with interest. "You be a Londoner," he said quickly. "What braught you +down here?" + +"How do you know that I'm a Londoner?" said Barrant, parrying the latter +part of the question. + +"I can tell a Londoner at once," returned the other. + +"'Twould be straange if I couldn't. I'm Peter Portgartha. P'raps you +haven't heard of me, but I'm well known hereabouts, and if you want to see +any of the sights, you'd best coome to me, and I'll show you round." + +"A guide, eh?" + +"There be guides and guides. I'll say nathin' about th' others, but +there's nobody knaws this part of Cornwall like me. I was born and bred +and knaw every inch of it. Before the waar I've had London ladies say to +me: ''Ave you ever seen the Bay of Naples, or the Canaries? Oh, you should +see them, Mr. Portgartha, they're ever so much more grand than Cornwall.' +Well, while the war was on I did see the Canaries and Bay of Naples at +Government's expense on a minesweeper, and they're not a patch on the +Cornwall coast. There's nathin' to beat it in the world." + +"It's good, is it?" said Barrant, with his accustomed affability to +strangers. "If I want to see any of it I'll get you to show me round." + +"Just came along to th' Mousehole and ask for Peter Portgartha. There's a +great cave at the Mouse's Hole--that's what we call it hereabouts, that +ain't to be beaten in the whole world. If your good lady's here, bring her +with you to see it. There ain't nobody else can show it to her like I can. +The London ladies don't like goin' down the Mousehole cave as a rule, +because it's a stiffish bit of a climb, and in the holiday season there's +always a lot of raffish young fellows hangin' round to see the ladies go +down--to see what they can see, you knaw. But I never 'ave no accidents +like that. No bold-eyed young chap ever saw the leg of any lady in my +charge--not so much as the top of a boot, because I knaw how to taake them +down. I'm well known to some of the 'ighest ladies in the land because I +'ev been aable to take care of their legs when they were goin' down. I've +had letters from them thaankin' me. You've no idea how grateful they be." + +This startling instance of the stern morality of aristocratic womanhood +was unfortunately wasted on Barrant, whose thoughts had reverted to the +principal preoccupation of his mind. Mr. Portgartha rambled on. + +"Aw, but it's strange to be meetin' you like this, in old Garge's +wagonette. For twelve months I've been goin' acrass the moors to see a +sister of mine, who's lonely, poor saul, havin' lost her man in the +war--drawned in a drifter 'e was--and catchin' this wagonette back every +night, with never a saul to speak to, until last night. Last night there +was a passerger, and to-night there's you. Tes strange, come to think of +it." He looked hard at Barrant as if for some confirmatory expression of +surprise at this remarkable accession to the wagonette's fares. He waited +so long that Barrant felt called upon to say something. + +"Who was your fellow passenger last night?" + +"Now you're asking me a question which takes a bit of answerin'," replied +Mr. Portgartha. "'Twas like this. I was waitin' at the crass-roads for old +Garge to come along, when a young womon came up out of th' darkness and +stood not far from me--just by the ol' crass. I tried to maake out who she +was, but it was too daark. So I just says to her, 'Good ebenin', miss, are +you waitin' for the wagonette too?' She never answered a word, and before +I could think of anything else to say old Garge came along, and we both +got in. She sat in a corner, silent as a ghooste. Well, then, I went to +light th' lamp, same as I have to-night, but as luck would 'ave it, I +hadn't a match. I knaw it was no use askin' old Garge, 'cos he'd pretend +not to hear, so I turned to the young womon sittin' opposite, and asked +her if she had a match in her pocket. And do you knaw, I declare to +gudeness she never said nawthen, not so much as a word!" + +"Perhaps she was dumb?" Barrant suggested. + +"Aw, iss, doomb enough then," retorted Mr. Portgartha. "I tried her two or +three times more, but couldn't get a word out of her. Well, at last I +began to get narvous, thinkin' she might be a sperit. So I leant across to +her an' says, 'Caan't you say a word, miss? It's only Peter Portgartha +speaking, he's well known for his respect for your sect. No young womon +need be frightened of speakin' to Peter Portgartha.' And with that she +spaaks at last, with a quick little gasp like a sob--I'm thinking I can +hear it at this minute--'Aw,' she says, 'why caan't you leave me alone?' +'Never be afraaid,' I says, for I have my pride like other folk, 'I'll say +no more. Peter Portgartha has no need to foorce his conversation where it +ain't welcome.'" + +"A strange girl!" said Barrant, beginning to feel an interest in the +story. "Have you no idea who she was?" + +"Wait a bit," continued Mr. Portgartha, evidently objecting to any +intrusion on his right, as narrator, to a delayed climax. "Well, there we +sat, like two ghoostes, till we got to Penzance, but all the time I was +thinkin' to mysel' that I'd find out who she was. I sed to myself I'd ride +on to the station, instid of gettin' out a piece this side of it so as to +make a short cut across to the Mouse's Hole, as I usually do. But that +stupid old fule Garge pulled up as usual and bawls through the window, +'Are you going to keep me here all night, Peter?' Before I could say a +word the young womon says: 'I'll get out here.' With that she puts the +fare into his hand through the open window, and slips out afore I knew +what she was going to do. If it hadn't been for my rhoomatics, which I got +in the war, I'd 'a followed her. As it was, I couldn't." + +"So you didn't see her face, after all?" asked Barrant quickly. + +"I didn't, in a manner of speakin'. But I did get a glimpse of her as she +passed near the lamp-post--just a half-sight of two big dark eyes in a +white face as she went past. I wouldn't 'a thought no more of it," added +Mr. Portgartha, laying an impressive hand on his companion's knee, "but +for what happened at Flint House last night." + +"What's that got to do with it?" In his quickened interest Barrant vainly +strove to make his voice appear calm. + +"Because the young womon must have coome from Flint House." + +Barrant scrutinized his companion sharply in the dim light. "Why do you +think so?" he asked. + +"For'n thing, the wayside crass where she picked up the wagonette is not +far from Flint House by acrass the moors--closer'n goin' from the house on +the cliffs t' the churchtown, which is a good slant to the north of it. +From Flint House to the crass-roads it's straight as a dart, if you know +yer way, with only one house twixt it till you come arver to it--old +Farmer Bardsley, who ain't got no wemmenfolk, so it's sartin she didn't +come from theer. She wasn't a maa'iden from any of the farms of the moors, +for I know them all. But it weren't till this marning that I got a kind of +notion who she was. I dropped into the _Tolpen Arms_ to have a drop +of something for a cawld I've got, and some of the fishermen were talkin' +about th' old gentleman of Flint House blowing his head off last night +with a gun. It made me feel queery-like when I heerd aboot it. 'Why,' I +says, 'that'll be about the time I saw the strange young womon in ol' +Crows' wagonette. She must 'ave come from Flint House, now I coome to +think of it.' 'What young woman was that?' asked 'Enery Waitts. So I told +them what had happened to me, just like I've told it to you. Mrs. Keegan, +the land-lady, who was list'ning, says, 'I shouldn't be surprised if it +was Mr. Turold's daughter that you saw. I heard yesterday that his sister +was staying at Penzance, so p'raps she was going to her, after it +happened. So if it was her it's not surprisin' she didn't want to speak to +you in her grief.'" + +"Did you ever see Miss Turold?" + +"I've never see any one of the Flint House folk, though I've heerd of +them, often enough." + +"Did you notice in which direction this girl went?" + +"No. She passed the lamp-post as if she were maakin' up Market Jew Street, +but I suppose she ced 'ave turned off anywhere to the right or left." + +"What time was it when the wagonette reached the cross-roads on the moor, +where she got in?" + +"About the same time as to-night, getting on for ten, mebbe." + +"She was quite alone?" + +"As lonely as any she ghooste, standin' theer by the old crass. 'Twaas +because I thought she'd feel feersome that I spoke to her." + +Barrant relapsed into a thoughtful silence which lasted until the +wagonette pulled up and his fellow-traveller prepared to alight. Then he +turned to him and said-- + +"Good-night. I may see you again." + +He fumbled at the interior window as he spoke, opened it, and touched the +driver on the shoulder. "Drive me to the Central Hotel," he said. "Go as +fast as you can, and I'll give you ten shillings!" + +Mr. Crows nodded a cold acquiescence, and they rattled off down the silent +street, leaving on Barrant's mind a receding impression of a startled red +face staring after them from the footpath. The wagonette jolted round a +corner, and ten minutes later stopped at the entrance of the hotel where +Mrs. Pendleton was staying. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + + +When Barrant learnt from the trembling lips of Mrs. Pendleton that she had +not seen her niece since that morning, his first step was to get Sisily's +full description, and call up Dawfield on the hotel telephone with +instructions to have all the railway stations between Penzance and London +warned to look out for her. That was a necessary precaution, but it did +not need Dawfield's hesitating information about time tables to convince +him that it was almost futile. The later of the two trains by which Sisily +might have fled from Cornwall had reached London and discharged its +passengers somewhere about the time that Mr. Peter Portgartha, in the +depth of the rumbling wagonette, was paying his tribute to shrinking +female modesty as exhibited on Mousehole rocks. + +After doing this Barrant returned to the empty lounge, where Mrs. +Pendleton sat in partial darkness with tearful face. All the other guests +had retired, and a lurking porter yawned longingly in the passage, waiting +for an opportunity to put out the last of the lights and get to bed. + +In the first shock of Barrant's violent apparition and angry questions, +Mrs. Pendleton had tried, in a bewildered way, to insist that her niece +had not left her room on the previous night. But now, in her troubled +consideration of the new strange turn of events surrounding her brother's +death, she saw that she might have been deceived on this point. Barrant, +for his part, had not the slightest doubt of it when he heard that her +belief rested on no stronger foundation than Sisily's early withdrawal +from the dining-room on the plea of fatigue, and the fact that her bedroom +door was locked when Mrs. Pendleton returned from her own visit to Flint +House. Sisily's subsequent flight eliminated any uncertainty about that, +and established beyond reasonable doubt her identity with the silent girl +who had entered the returning wagonette at the cross-roads. The +coincidence of those two facts had a terrible significance. Barrant had no +doubt that Sisily had gone to her own room early in order to find an +opportunity to pay a secret visit to her home, for a purpose which now +seemed to stand sinisterly revealed by her disappearance. He also thought +he saw the motive--that vital factor in murder--looming behind her +nocturnal expedition. But that was a question he was not inclined to +analyze too closely at that moment. He wanted to know how she had been +able to disappear that day without the knowledge of her aunt. + +Mrs. Pendleton had a ready explanation of that. She said that after +returning from her visit to the police station that morning she had been +engaged with her brother Austin until nearly lunch-time, and when she went +up to Sisily's room she found it empty. She concluded that her niece had +gone out somewhere to be alone with her grief--she was the type of girl +that liked to be alone. After lunch Mrs. Pendleton had letters to write, +and then she had gone to her bedroom and fallen sound asleep till +dinner-time, worn out by the shock of her brother's death, and the +sleepless night which had followed it. When Sisily did not appear at +dinner she began to grow uneasy, but sought to convince herself that +Sisily might have gone on a _char-à-banc_ trip to Falmouth which had +been advertised for that day. The incongruity of a sad solitary girl like +Sisily nursing her grief in a public vehicle packed with curious +chattering trippers did not seem to have occurred to her. But as time +passed she grew seriously alarmed, and sent her husband out to make +enquiries. + +She had sat in the lounge listening with strained ears for the girl's +footsteps until Barrant arrived. + +"Has your niece any friends in Cornwall or London, or anywhere, for that +matter, who would receive her?" Barrant abruptly demanded. + +"I really do not know," said Mrs. Pendleton. + +She wiped the tears from her eyes with a large white handkerchief. She was +overwhelmed by the shock of her niece's disappearance, and the terrible +interpretation Barrant evidently placed upon it. But Barrant was in no +mood to allow for her confused state of mind. + +"You had better try and remember," he said irritably. "It seems to me that +I've been kept in the dark. You went to the police to demand an +investigation into your brother's death, but you did not say anything of +the disclosure he made to you yesterday of his daughter's illegitimacy. +Instead of doing so, you only directed suspicion to his man-servant. +Meanwhile your niece, who was placed in your care, disappears to heaven +knows where, and you took no steps to inform the police. You have acted +very indiscreetly, Mrs. Pendleton, to say the least." + +"I did not know--I did not think," gasped Mrs. Pendleton. She endeavoured +to commence a flurried explanation of the mixed motives and impulses which +had swayed her since her brother's death, but Barrant cut it short with an +impatient wave of the hand. + +"Never mind that now," he said. "I have lost too much time already. Have +you no idea where your niece is likely to have sought refuge?" + +Mrs. Pendleton shook her head. "Robert had no friends," she said, "and +Sisily led a very lonely life. Robert told me that yesterday. That was the +reason he wanted me to take charge of her--so as to give her the +opportunity of making some girl friends of her own age." + +She paused, embarrassed by the recollection that her brother's real +intention in placing Sisily in her charge was altogether different. +Barrant noted her hesitation, and interpreted it aright. + +"No," he said. "The real reason of your brother parting with his daughter +provides the motive for her return to his house last night. What happened +between them is a matter for conjecture, at present. Apparently she was +the last person who saw him alive before he was shot, and now she is not +to be found." + +There was something so portentously solemn in his manner of speaking these +last words that his listener quaked in terror, and gazed at him with +widened eyes. Barrant turned abruptly to another phase. + +"Are you quite sure that it was the man-servant you saw looking through +the door yesterday afternoon?" + +It was proof of the fallibility of human testimony that Mrs. Pendleton had +sincerely convinced herself that she was quite sure. "Yes," she said. + +Barrant looked doubtful. By reason of his calling he was well aware of the +human tendency to unintentional mistake in identity. With women +especially, the jump from an impression to a conclusion was sometimes as +rapid as the thought itself. + +"Did you see his face?" he asked. + +"Only the eyes. But I am sure that they were Thalassa's eyes." + +Barrant did not press the point. He did not doubt the honesty of her +belief, but the words in which it was conveyed suggested hasty impression +rather than conviction. Such proofs of identity were not to be relied +upon. + +"Had your brother's servant any reason, so far as you know, to be +listening at the door?" he asked. + +"All servants are curious," murmured Mrs. Pendleton. She shook her head +wisely, as one intimating a wide knowledge of their class. + +"All curious servants are not murderers," returned Barrant. "This man has +been in your brother's service for a long time, has he not?" + +"For a great number of years. Almost ever since Robert returned to +England, I think." + +"So Mr. Austin Turold informed me. Had he any grudge against his master?" + +"Thalassa? I really couldn't tell you, because I do not know. But he has a +most truculent and overbearing manner--not at all the kind of manner you +expect in a servant, and he seemed to do just what he liked. I disliked +him as soon as I saw him. I'm sure he looks more like some dreadful old +sea pirate than a gentleman's servant. I would not have him in my +household." Mrs. Pendleton set her lips firmly. "No, not for a single +moment. But I suppose poor Robert was attached to him from long +association." + +Barrant nodded in an understanding way. "Then this man Thalassa must have +known your niece from childhood," he said in a casual tone. "Was he +attached to her, do you think?" + +"I know nothing of that." + +"That's rather a pity," he said with a gentle shake of the head. He looked +at her knowingly. + +"I do not understand you," she faltered. + +"You had grounds for your suspicions of Thalassa--reasonable grounds. He +must have admitted your niece into the house last night, you know. I must +get it out of him." + +She gave a start, for she saw now where his drift of questions was taking +them. With a sickening sense of horror she realized that her slight +suspicions were being used by him to help fashion a case against her own +flesh and blood. + +"What are you suggesting?" she breathed, with a nervous look. + +"Nothing at present," he said, with a quick realization of the fact that +he was in danger of talking too much. "Can you tell me if your niece is +provided with money?" + +"My brother gave her twenty-five pounds in bank notes yesterday--he told +me." + +"That is enough to keep her for some weeks. You are quite sure you cannot +form any idea where she has gone?" + +"No," said Mrs. Pendleton coldly, with a belated inward resolve not to be +so ready in volunteering information to the police in future. + +"I should like to see the room your niece occupied last night," he said. + +That was a search which brought nothing to light. Barrant left the hotel +just as little Mr. Pendleton returned to it with an alarmed face and a +feeling of personal guilt at his failure to find Sisily. + +Barrant passed him with a side glance, his mind full of the problem of the +girl's disappearance. He left the hotel in a state of thoughtfulness, +fully realizing the difficulties of the task which lay before him in +tracing Sisily's movements on the previous night, and discovering where +she had flown. The deeper questions of motive and the inconsequence of +some of her actions he preferred to leave till later. Action, and not +mental analysis, was the need of the moment. Barrant prided himself on +being a man of action, and he was also a detective. The thrill of pursuit +stirred in his blood. + +His later activities that night and the following day brought to light +many things, but not all that he wanted to know. He convinced himself, in +the first place, that it was possible for the girl to have left her room +and returned to it on the night of her father's death without any of the +inmates of the hotel being aware of her absence. That lessened the +complexity of the case by absolving Mrs. Pendleton from the suspicion of +pretended ignorance. Barrant was also convinced the aunt believed her +niece to be in bed and asleep during the time of her own visit to her +brother's house. Sisily had to pass the office of the hotel in going out +and returning, but she could easily have done so unobserved. There were +few guests at that season of the year, and the proprietor's daughter, who +looked after the office, was in the dining-room having her dinner at +half-past seven. She went to bed shortly after ten, leaving the front +entrance in charge of the porter, who had duties to perform in various +parts of the house. And it was possible to descend the stairs and leave +the hotel without being seen from the lounge or smoking-room. + +There was a wagonette to St. Fair from the railway station at +half-past-seven. The hotel dinner was at a quarter to seven for the +convenience of some permanent guests, and Sisily, who left the table +before the meal was concluded--about a quarter-past seven, according to +Mrs. Pendleton--had time to catch the wagonette. On the assumption that +even a Cornish wagonette would cover the journey of five miles across the +moors in less than an hour, Sisily had probably reached her father's house +at half-past eight or a little earlier. The stopped clock in the study +indicated that he met his death at half-past nine. If so, Sisily must have +left Flint House shortly before her aunt's arrival to catch the returning +wagonette at the cross-roads where the young woman was seen waiting by +Peter Portgartha. + +But that plausibly conceived itinerary of events needed the support of +proof, and there Barrant found himself in difficulty. + +The morning's enquiries made it manifest that Sisily had left Penzance by +the mid-day train on the previous day. After leaving Mrs. Pendleton, +Barrant had gone to the station. The sour and elderly ticket-clerk on duty +could give him no information, but let it be understood that there was +another clerk selling tickets for the mid-day train, which was unusually +crowded by farmers going to Redruth. The other clerk, seen in the morning, +had no difficulty in recalling the young lady of Barrant's description. +She was pretty and slight and dark, with a pale clear complexion, and she +carried a small handbag. She asked for a ticket to London. The clerk +understood her to ask for a return ticket, but as she picked it up with +the change for the five pound note with which she paid for it, she said +that she thought she had asked for a single ticket. He assured her that +she had not, but offered to change it. At that moment the departure of the +train was signalled, and she ran through the barrier without waiting to +change the ticket. The incident caused him to observe her, and his +description tallied so completely with Mrs. Pendleton's description that +Barrant had not the least doubt that it was Sisily. + +On the strength of this information Barrant applied to a local magistrate +for a warrant for the girl's arrest. He was well aware that he had not yet +gathered sufficient evidence to satisfy the law that she had murdered her +father, but his action was justified by her flight and the presumption of +her secret visit to her father's house when she was supposed to be in bed +and asleep at the hotel. + +These things fulfilled, Barrant then applied his mind to the question of +Thalassa's complicity. If Sisily's actions on the night of her father's +death, and her subsequent flight, simplified matters to the extent of +deepening the assumption of murder into a practical certainty, they added +to the complexity of the case by giving it the appearance of a carefully +planned crime in which Thalassa seemed to be deeply involved. + +The insistent necessity of motive which should explain the events of that +night with apt presumptions, threw Barrant back on the suggestion, made by +Austin Turold, that it was really Sisily whom Mrs. Pendleton had detected +looking through the door of the downstairs room when the other members of +the family were assembled within listening to Robert Turold. Barrant told +himself that Mrs. Pendleton's suspicion of Thalassa rested on nothing more +substantial than feminine prejudice, an unreasoning impulse of dislike +which would leave few men alive if it always carried capital punishment in +its train. + +The substitution of Sisily for Thalassa provided a convincing motive for +murder. The overheard revelation of her mother's shame and her own +precarious condition in the world when she might reasonably have been +counting on becoming an heiress of note, were sufficient to account for +the nocturnal return and an effort to entreat justice or compel +silence--the alternatives depended on the type of girl. From what Mrs. +Pendleton had told him of Sisily and her love for her mother--poor Mrs. +Pendleton had insisted, all unwittingly, very strongly on that--Barrant +had pictured her as a brooding yet passionate type of girl who might have +committed the murder in a sudden frenzy of determination to prevent her +father making public the unhappy secret of her mother's life. That was an +act by no means inconsistent with the temperament of a strongwilled and +lonely girl, whose stormy passions had been wrought to the breaking-point +by disclosures made on the very day that her loved mother had been buried +in a nameless grave. There was, additionally, the motive of self-interest, +awakened to the lamentable fact that she had no claim on her father beyond +what generosity might dictate. In short, Barrant believed the motive for +the murder to be a mixed one, as human motives generally are. At that +stage of his reasoning he did not ask himself whether worldly greed was +likely to enter into the composition of a girl like Sisily. + +This reconstruction of the crime pointed to an accomplice, and that +accomplice must have been the man-servant. Nobody but Thalassa could have +let the girl into the house; and he could have dropped the key in the room +after the door was broken open. That theory not only presupposed strong +devotion on Thalassa's part for a girl he had known from childhood, which +was a theory reasonable of belief, but it also suggested that he bore a +deep grudge against his master on his own account, sufficient to cause him +to refrain from doing anything to prevent the accomplishment of the +murder, and to risk his own skin afterwards to shield the girl from the +consequences. This aspect of the case struck Barrant as very strange and +deep, because it failed to account for Sisily's subsequent flight. If +Thalassa had jeopardized himself by keeping silence about her visit, and +had returned the key to her father's room in order to create the idea of +suicide, why had she dispelled the illusion by running away, bringing both +her accomplice and herself into danger? Had she been, seized with terror, +perhaps due to Mrs. Pendleton's insistence on her belief of murder, or had +Thalassa conveyed some warning to her that inquiries were likely to be put +afoot? + +These were questions to which Barrant felt he could find no answer until +he had seen Thalassa and attempted to wrest the truth from him. + +He postponed his visit to Flint House until the evening. He wanted to make +the journey as Sisily had made it on the previous night, in order to find +out, as nearly as possible, the exact moment she had arrived at her +father's house. He was not even in a position to prove that she had gone +by the wagonette until he had questioned the driver. + +He took his way to the station that evening with the feeling that it would +be difficult to get anything out of Thalassa, whatever the reasons for his +silence. He instinctively recognized that the authority of the law, which +strikes such terror into craven hearts, would not help him with this old +man whose glance had the lawless fearlessness of an eagle. But he had +confidence in his ability to extract the truth, and Thalassa, moreover, +was at the disadvantage of having something to hide. It would be strange +if he did not succeed in getting the facts out of him. + +The St. Fair wagonette was pulled up outside the station. Mr. Crows, +master of his destiny and time-tables, reclined in front, regarding with a +glazed eye his drooping horse. Inside, some stout women with bundles +waited patiently until it suited the autocrat on the box seat to start on +his homeward way. Mr. Crows showed no indication of being in a hurry. His +head nodded drowsily, and a little saliva trickled down his nether lip. He +straightened himself with a sudden jerk as Barrant climbed up beside him. + +"What be yewer doin' yare?" he demanded. + +"I'm going to St. Fair," said Barrant. + +"I doan't allow no passergers to sit alongside o' me." + +"You'll have to put up with it for once," returned Barrant curtly, in no +way softened by the odour of Mr. Crows' breath. + +As this was a reply which no resident of St. Fair would have dared to +make, Mr. Crows bent a muddled glance on his fare, and by a concentrated +effort recalled the face of the man who had given him ten shillings on the +previous night. He decided to pocket the present indignity in the hope of +another tip. + +"Aw right," he said, with unwonted amiability, "yewer can stay where yew +are--for wance." + +He applied himself to driving the wagonette. Sobriety was not an essential +of the feat. The horse knew the way, drew clear of the town without +accident, and jogged into the long winding road which stretched across the +moors. The shadows deepened into night, and Mr. Crows lighted a solitary +lamp in the front of his vehicle. + +"Aren't you going to light up inside?" asked Barrant, when the lamp was +flickering faintly. + +"No," replied Mr. Crows shortly. "It don't pay. Let 'em set in the dark." + +"Not enough passengers, eh?" + +"Moren enough fat old wommen on the out journey," declared Mr. Crows +passionately. "That's because it's all up-hill. But they walk in downhill +to save a shellen. _I_ know them." He brooded darkly. "It's all part +of the plan," he went on. Then, as though feeling that this latter +statement, in itself, erred on the side of vagueness, he added--"to worrit +a man." + +"How many passengers did you have on your last journey in, last night?" + +"Two on 'em." Mr. Crows, with forefinger and thumb, snuffed his nose as he +had previously snuffed the candle in the lamp. "There was Peter Portgartha +and a young woman. I happen to know it was a young 'un because she went +away at such a rate when she got out. When wommen begins to get up in +years they go in the legs, same as harses." + +"Would you know her again if you saw her?" asked Barrant eagerly. + +"Not if you was to sware me on the Howly Trinity." + +"Did this young woman travel up with you by this wagonette last night?" + +Mr. Crows couldn't say for that. There were six insides, that was all +_he_ knew. He disremembered anything about them. + +"Surely you notice the passengers you carry?" + +Mr. Crows, with the air of one propounding an insoluble riddle, asked his +fare why should he take notice of his passengers? He weren't paid for +that--no, not he. What's more, the night was a dark one. He knew there was +six insides because six fares was put through the winder, but whether they +was put through by men or ma'adens or widder wommen was moren he cud say. + +He again called on the Trinity to attest his ignorance. + +"Their shellens is nuthin' to me"--the reference was to the passengers. +"They wouldn't pay for the harse's feed. I work for the Duchy, I do, which +is almost the same as being in Guvverment, ain't it? I remember yew, +thow--because yew gave me ten shellens for driving yew to the Central +hotel last night." Mr. Crows cast a quick glance at his fare to see how he +took this artful reminder of his munificence. "But as for their bobs--" He +spat into the night in order to express his contempt for the +insignificance of such small sums. + +There was a tap at the window behind him. He unfastened the pane, and a +spectral hand came through with a coin. Mr. Crows took it, the hand +disappeared, to be replaced by another, more dirty than spectral, with a +coin in the outstretched palm, like its predecessor. + +"You see," said Mr. Crows, when he had collected six shillings in this +manner. "What's the need for to look at them? I've learnt them to hand in +their fares this way. Saves time and talk for nothing. Why should I look +at a lot of fat old wommen? I ain't paid for that. It's quite enough to +let them set in my cab, wearing out my cushions with their great fat +bodies, without looking at them." He eyed Barrant with some sternness. + +"But this was not a fat old woman," said Barrant. "She was a pretty young +girl." + +"Ma'ad or widder, it's all the same to me," returned the misogynist. "Some +holds with the sex and finds them soothing, but I was never took up with +them myself. I prefers beer. Every man to his taste." + +"Did any of the passengers alight at the crossroads?" + +They were nearing the cross-roads as he spoke, and the rude outline of the +wayside cross loomed out of the shadows directly ahead. + +"I couldn't tell you that, neither. I always stop at the cross-roads, in +and out. It's one of my regular stopping-places. Come to think of it, +though, somebody did get out at the cross-roads last night." + +"A man or woman?" asked Barrant with eagerness. + +"A woman. She went off acrass the moors that way." Mr. Crows pointed an +indifferent whip into the blackness which rested like a pall between the +white road and the distant roaring sea. "She was a wunner to go, too--out +of sight in a moment, she was." + +"Thank you. I'll get down here, too." + +As the wagonette stopped at the cross-roads Barrant jumped down from his +seat and disappeared in the indicated direction before Mr. Crows could +summon his slow wits to determine the value of the coin which the +detective had pressed into his passively expectant palm. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + + +The twilight had deepened into darkness when Barrant reached Flint House. +A faint ray of light flickered from the kitchen window on the giant +cliffs, like a taper from a doll's house. He approached the window by a +line of rocks which guarded it like sentinels, and looked in. + +Within, Mrs. Thalassa sat alone by the table in a drooping attitude of +dejection or stupor. Her head was bent over her crossed hands, which +rested on the table, and her grey hair, escaping from the back comb which +fastened it, fell on both sides of her face. An oil lamp smoked on the +table beside her, sending forth a cloud of black vapour like an unbottled +genie, but she did not heed it. There was something uncanny in her +complete detachment from the restless activity of life. The dead man lying +upstairs was not more still. + +Had Barrant known her better he would have had matter for surprise and +conjecture in the fact that her patience cards stood untouched in their +shabby leather case, but knowing nothing of that he fell to wondering what +her husband had seen in such a queer little creature to marry her. The +consideration of that question led him to the conclusion that perhaps +Thalassa had been impelled to his choice by the realization that she was +as good-looking a wife as he could afford. Barrant reflected that women +resembled horses in value. The mettlesome showy ones were bred to display +their paces for rich men only. Serviceable hacks, warranted to work a +lifetime, could not be expected to be ornamental as well as useful. So +long as they pulled their burdens without jibbing overmuch, one had to be +content. + +He began to wonder where Thalassa was, and moved closer to the shadow of +one of the rocks in case he happened to be prowling around the house. In +the silence of the night he listened for the sound of footsteps on the +rocks, but could hear nothing except the moan of the sea and the whimper +of a rising wind. His eye, glancing upwards, fell upon a chink of +shuttered light in the back of the house which looked down on the sea. The +light came from the dead man's study, and had not been there a few moments +before. + +Barrant walked to the kitchen door and tapped lightly. There was no +answer, but somewhere within the house a dog howled dismally. The door +handle yielded to his touch when he tried it, and he walked in. + +The little old woman at the table made a sudden movement at his +appearance, but he gave her a reassuring smile and nod. She sat quite +still, with a look of fear in her eyes. Above his head he heard someone +moving in the study. + +"Your husband is upstairs?" he asked in a voice which was little more than +a whisper. "I want to see him--I am going up to him." + +He did not wait for her to reply, and she watched him out of the room with +staring eyes. Stealthily he directed his steps to the staircase, and with +infinite precautions for silence commenced to ascend. But midway he +stumbled in the dark, and the stair creaked loudly. Above his head a door +opened sharply, and when he reached the landing he saw the figure of +Thalassa framed in the lighted doorway at the far end of the long passage, +listening. + +"Who's there?" he cried; then his eye fell on Barrant, advancing swiftly +from the darkness towards the light. "What do you want?" he said. "How did +you get in?" + +Barrant looked past him into the room. There was a litter of papers on the +table and shelves, as he had last seen it, but it did not seem to him that +anything had been disturbed. The door of the death chamber opposite was +closed. + +"What are you doing up here?" he said sternly. + +Thalassa did not deign to parley. "What do you want?" he repeated, looking +steadily at the detective. + +"Did you hear what I said to you?" angrily demanded Barrant. "Were you not +told not to interfere with these rooms in any way? You have no right up +here." + +"More right than you have to come into a house like a thief," retorted +Thalassa coldly. "I have my work to do. The place must be looked after, +whether I'm spied on or not." + +"I advise you not to take that tone with me," replied the detective. "As +you are here, you had better come into this room again, and shut the door +behind you. I have some questions I want to put to you." + +Thalassa followed Barrant into the room and stood by the table, the rays +of the swinging-lamp throwing his brown face into sharp outline. "What do +you want to know?" he asked. + +"I want you to tell me everything that happened in this house on the night +your master was found dead." + +"There's not much to tell," began Thalassa slowly. "When it happened I was +down in the cellar, breaking some coal. I heered my wife call out to me +from the kitchen. I went up from the cellar, and she was standing at the +kitchen door, shaking like a leaf with fright. She said there'd been a +terrible crash right over her head in Mr. Turold's study. I took a lamp +and went upstairs, and knocked at the door, but I got no reply. I knocked +three times as loud as I could, but there wasn't a sound. At that I gets +afeered myself, so I put on my hat and coat to go across to the churchtown +to fetch Dr. Ravenshaw. Then a knock come to the front door, and when I +opened the door there was the doctor and Mr. and Mrs. Pendleton." + +"How long was that after the crash upstairs?" + +"No longer than it took me to go upstairs, knock at the door, and getting +no answer, go downstairs to put on my coat and hat. I was just winding a +comforter round my throat when I heered the knock." + +"It did not occur to you to break in the door of your master's room when +you got no answer and found it locked?" + +"No it never, and you wouldn't have done it in my place." + +"You heard no sound of a shot?" + +"Not down in the cellar. I fancy I heered the sound of the clock falling. +It came to me all muffled like, though it frightened her rarely." He +pointed downward to the kitchen. "And it frightened the dog, too, started +it barking." + +"Is that the dog I heard whining downstairs?" + +"Maybe it is. I've got it shut up in the cellar." + +"Whose dog is it?" + +"His." Thalassa's eyes travelled towards Robert Turold's bedroom. + +"Is it howling through grief?" + +"More like from fright. Dogs are like people, frightened of their own +shadows, sometimes. I shut it up because it kept trying to get upstairs to +his room. It's a queer surly sort of brute, but fond enough of him. He +used to take it out for long walks." + +"What kind of dog is it?" + +"A retriever." + +"So that's all that happened that night, is it?" said Barrant, in a +meditative voice. "You have told me all?" + +Thalassa nodded. His brown face remained expressionless, but his little +dark eyes glittered warily, like a snake's. + +"Think again, Thalassa," urged Barrant, in a voice of the softest +insistence. "It may be that you have forgotten something--overlooked an +incident which may be important." + +"I've overlooked nothing," was the sullen response. + +"There's just an odd chance that you have," said Barrant, searching the +other's face from raised contemplative eyebrows. "The best of memories +plays tricks at times. It's always better not to be too sure. Think again, +Thalassa, if you haven't something more to tell me." + +"I've told you everything," Thalassa commenced, then straightened his long +bony frame in a sudden access of anger, and brought his hand sharply down +on the table. "What are you trying to badger me for, like this? You'll get +nothing more out of me if you question me till Doomsday." + +"But why should you keep anything back?" asked Barrant softly. + +Thalassa looked at him with a startled air, then recovered himself +quickly. "I'm not keeping anything back," he said. "Why should you say +that?" + +"I did not say it. You said I'd get no more out of you." + +"Because there is nothing more to be got. Is that plain enough?" + +"Quite. Well then, let us go over the events of this night once more. +Perhaps that will help you to recall something which you have forgotten." + +"That's not likely." + +"Nevertheless, we will try. You were busy in the coal cellar at the time, +I think you said?" + +"At what time?" said Thalassa with a quick glance. + +"At the time the crash happened upstairs." + +"Yes." + +"What time was that?" + +"How should I know? Do you suppose there's a clock in the coal cellar? It +must have been about half-past nine." + +"According to the clock upstairs. Did you think I had overlooked that? +Then you heard your wife call, and went to the kitchen. Next, you went +upstairs, tried your master's door, found it locked, and decided to go for +assistance. But before you could do so Mr. and Mrs. Pendleton and Dr. +Ravenshaw arrived. Have I got it right?" + +"That be right." + +"All except one thing, Thalassa." + +Thalassa met Barrant's look steadily, with no sense of guilt in his face. +"Well?" he said. + +"I see that you do not intend to be frank. Let me help your memory a +little. Did you have no other visitors--before Mr. and Mrs. Pendleton and +Dr. Ravenshaw arrived?" + +"Visitors?" There was scorn now in his straight glance, but nothing more. +"Is this a place where there's likely to be visitors?" + +"Not in the ordinary course of events"--Barrant was still smilingly +affable--"but the night your master met his death was not an ordinary +night. Somebody may have come to the house." + +He paused, again searching for some sign of guilty consciousness in the +face revealed in such clear outline near him, but saw none. Again, +Thalassa met him with answering look, but remained mute. + +"Thalassa"--Barrant's voice remained persuasive, but to an ear attuned to +shades, there was a note of menace underlying its softness--"you know +there was somebody else here that night." + +"Somebody? Who?" + +"Your master's daughter--Miss Sisily Turold." Barrant brought it out +sharply and angrily. + +Thalassa turned a cold glance on him. "If you know that why do you ask +me?" he said. + +"Because you let her in!" + +Thalassa surveyed him with the shadow of a smile on his motionless face. +"Do you take me for a fool?" he said. "I let nobody in." + +"Thalassa," said the detective earnestly, "let me advise you, for your own +sake, to tell the truth now. You may be keeping silence through some +mistaken idea of loyalty to your master's daughter, but that will do her +no good, nor you either. I know more than you think. If you persist in +keeping silent you will put yourself in an awkward position, and it may be +the worse for you. You were seen listening at the door of the room +downstairs on the day of your master's death." + +"So that's it, is it? You think you'll fit a rope round my neck? I'm to +say what you want to save it? To hell with you and your policeman's +tricks! I don't care that for them." He snapped his long brown fingers in +Barrant's face. + +"You've a bold tongue, you scoundrel," said Barrant, flushing angrily. +"Take care where it leads you. Once more, will you tell me the truth?" + +"I've told you all I know." + +"Do you mean to tell me that you did not see your master's daughter, or +let her into the house?" + +"I did not." + +"Could anybody have got into the house without your knowledge?" + +"Maybe." + +"Did you hear anybody?" + +"How could I hear anybody when I was down in the coal cellar?" + +The open sneer on Thalassa's face suggested that he was not to be caught +by verbal traps. Barrant perceived, with a smouldering anger, that the man +was too clever to be tricked, and too stout of heart to be frightened. By +accident or design he had a ready story which was difficult to demolish +without further knowledge of the events of that night. Barrant decided +that it would be useless, at that moment, to apply himself to the effort +of worming anything out of Thalassa. He had shown his own hand too freely, +and placed him on his guard. There was also the bare possibility that he +had told the truth, so far as he knew it. One last shot he essayed. + +"You are acting very foolishly, but I shall not arrest you--yet," he said +impressively. "I shall tell the local police to keep an eye on you." + +"Is it the Cornish savage from the churchtown--him with the straw helmit?" +said Thalassa, with a harsh laugh. + +The last shot had missed fire badly. The lawless spirit of the man was not +to be intimidated by a threat of arrest--a threat which the detective had +reason for not putting into effect just then. Barrant moved towards the +door with the best dignity he could command. + +"Light me downstairs to the kitchen," he said. "I want to see your wife." + +Thalassa seemed about to say something at that, then thought the better of +it, and walked out of the room. Outside in the passage he picked up a +small lamp glimmering in a niche of the wall, and led the way downstairs. +They reached the kitchen in silence, and went in. + +The little grey woman at the table was seated in the same posture as +Barrant had last seen her, her hands crossed in front of her, her head +bent. She glanced up listlessly as they entered. Barrant crossed the room, +and touched her arm. She shook in a pitiful little flurry of fear, then +became motionless again. + +"Mrs. Thalassa, I want to speak to you," said Barrant, raising his voice, +as though to a deaf person. "Is this where you were sitting the night +before last, when you heard the crash in your master's room upstairs?" + +"Put the knave on the rubbish heap," she muttered without looking up. + +"Listen to me, Mrs. Thalassa"--he spoke still louder. "Did you hear the +shot before the crash?" + +The loud tone seemed to reach the remote consciousness of her being, and +she started up in another flurry. ... "Coming, coming, sir. Jasper, +where's the tray?..." she stood thus for a moment, then dropped back into +her chair, her eyes fixed on the opposite wall. + +"What's the matter with her?" said Barrant, turning to her husband. + +"She's been like it ever since it happened," said Thalassa, in a low tone. +"That's how I found her when I came from the cellar." + +"Did she hear the shot--or see anything?" + +"That's more than I can tell you. When I came from the cellar she seemed +mazed with fright, and kept pointing to the ceiling. All I could make out +from her was that there'd been a great crash upstairs. When I came down +again after trying the door she was lying on the floor in a faint, and I +carried her in to her bed. It's floored her wits." + +"She's had a very bad shock," said Barrant gravely. He regarded her +attentively, her vacant eyes, mouthing lips, trembling hands, her uncanny +fixed glance which seemed to behold something unseen. Strange suspicions +flowed through his brain as he watched her. What terrible experience had +befallen her? What did she know of the mysterious events that had happened +in that silent house? He endeavoured to follow the direction of her gaze, +but it seemed to be fixed on the row of bells behind the kitchen door. +Then, like a half-awakened sleeper released from the horror of a +nightmare, she sank back in her previous listless attitude, and fell to +muttering again. + +As Barrant watched her, Thalassa watched them both with an anxiety which +would have aroused Barrant's suspicions if he had seen it. But Thalassa's +face was again closely guarded when he did look up. + +"You'll get neither rhyme nor reason out of her," said Thalassa, as their +glances met. + +"I'll try once more," murmured Barrant, almost to himself. He turned to +her again, but this time he did not lay his hand on her arm. "Mrs. +Thalassa"--he spoke more gently--"will you try and understand me?" + +"Red on black ... black on red." Her hands moved restlessly. + +In a sudden recognition of the futility of trying to gather anything from +that clouded brain, Barrant turned abruptly away without another word. And +the black gaze of Thalassa followed him through the door and out into the +darkness of the night. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + + +The bell in the darkened chambers rang with the insistent clamour of +mechanism responding with blind obedience to a human hand, but Mr. Anthony +Brimsdown suffered it to pass unnoticed. As an elderly bachelor, living +alone, he was sufficiently master of his own affairs to disregard the +arrival of the last post, leaving the letters as they were tumbled through +the slit in the door downstairs until he felt inclined to go and get them. + +He was standing in the centre of the room examining an unusual trinket--a +gold hoop like a bracelet, with numbers and the zodiac signs engraved on +the inner surface. Mr. Brimsdown had discovered it in a Kingsway curiosity +shop a week before. It was a portable sun-dial of the sixteenth century. A +slide, pushed back a certain distance in accordance with the zodiac signs, +permitted the sun to fall through a slit on the figures of the hours +within--a dainty timekeeper for mediaeval lovers. Mr. Brimsdown was no +gallant, nor had he sufficient imagination to prompt him to wonder what +dead girl's dainty fingers had once held up the bright fragile circle to +the sun to see if Love's tryst was to be kept. His joy in the sun-dial was +the pride of the collector in the possession of a rare thing. + +But that night it failed to interest him. He put it down with a sigh, and +resumed his restless pacing of the room. + +It was his office, but he preferred it to his chambers at the end of the +passage. He said the air was better, but it is doubtful whether that was +the reason. Perhaps Mr. Brimsdown felt less lonely among his legal +documents, meditating over battles he had won for dead legatees. As a +solicitor he was "strong on the Chancery side" and had gained some famous +judgments for notorious litigants--men who had loved the law so well that +their souls might well have been found--knowing no higher heaven--in the +office where the records of their forgotten lawsuits were buried. And in +death, as in life, they would have been glad to confide their affairs to +the man whose lot it had been to add "Deceased" to so many of the names on +the black steel deed-boxes which lined the shelves. + +Mr. Brimsdown lived for the law. As a family lawyer he was the soul of +discretion, an excellent fighter, wary and reticent, deep as the grave, +but far safer. The grave sometimes opens and divulges a ghastly secret +from its narrow depths. There was no chance of getting anything out of Mr. +Brimsdown, dead or alive. He had no wife to extract bedroom confidences +from him, no relations to visit in expansive moments, he trusted nothing +to paper or diary, and he did not play golf. He was a solitary man, of an +habitual secretiveness deepened by years of living alone. + +His lips moved now, and he spoke aloud. His voice sounded sharply in the +heavy silence. + +"A calamity--nothing less. How did it happen? Was it grief for his wife?" + +His face showed unusual agitation--distress even. It was well his clients +could not see him at that moment. To them he was a remote enigmatic figure +of conveyances and legal deeds; one deeply versed in human follies and +foibles, but impervious to human feeling, independent of human +companionship. The reserved glance of his cold grey eye betokened that he +guarded his own secrets as closely as he guarded the secrets entrusted to +him professionally. But there was human nature in him--deep down. It was +not much--a lock of hair in a sealed packet in his pocket-book. The giver +was dead and gone to dust, sleeping in an old churchyard near the Strand, +forgotten by all who had ever known her--except one. Sometimes in the +twilight a tall figure would stand musing beside that forgotten grave for +awhile, then turn away and walk swiftly up the narrow river street, across +the Strand, and through the archway to Grey's Inn. + +"Thirty years!" he murmured. Then his mind seemed to hark back to his +previous thought, after the fashion of a man who thinks aloud--"No, no; +not his wife. He did not care enough for her for that. Thirty +years--wasted. My heart bleeds when I think of it. Ought I to go down? Did +he wish for me? I wonder--" + +His distress as he paced the room was more apparent than ever. Again, his +clients would have been astonished if they had witnessed it. In their +opinion he was hard as nails and a stranger to the softer feelings of the +heart. They would as soon thought of attributing sentiment to one of the +japanned deed-boxes. But they would have accepted the surprising +revelation with well-bred English tolerance for eccentricity, not allowing +it to affect their judgment that Mr. Brimsdown was one of the soundest and +safest lawyers in England. + +His agitation arose from the death of Robert Turold--his client. He had +gathered that piece of news from an evening newspaper in the restaurant +where he had dined. Mr. Brimsdown had reached an age when the most +poignant events of human life seem little more than trifles. It was in the +nature of things for men to die. As a lawyer he had prepared many last +wills and testaments--had helped men into their graves, as it +were--unmoved. But that unexpected announcement of Robert Turold's death +had come to him as an over-whelming shock. He had left his meal +unfinished, and returned to his chambers to seek consolation, not in +prayer, but in his collection of old clocks and watches. In the dusk he +had set out his greatest treasures--the gold sun-dial, a lamp clock, an +early French watch in blue enamel, and a bed repeating clock in a velvet +case. But the solace had failed him for once. Even the magic name of Dan +Quare on the jewelled face of the repeater failed to stir his collector's +heart. + +His regard for Robert Turold was deep and sincere. His dead client had +been his ideal of a strong man. Strong and unyielding--like a rock. That +was the impression Robert Turold had conveyed at their first interview +many years before, and his patience and tenacity in pursuit of his purpose +had deepened the feeling since. The object of his search had the lawyer's +sympathy. Mr. Brimsdown had a reverence for titles--inherited titles, not +mere knighthoods, or Orders of the British Empire. For those he felt +nothing but contempt. He drew the sharpest distinction between such +titled vulgarians and those who were born into the world with the blood +running blue in their veins. He regarded Robert Turold as belonging to +this latter class. It was nothing to him that he was a commoner in the +eyes of the world, with no more claim to distinction than a golf-playing +city merchant. He had believed in his story from the first, and had helped +him in that belief. Turrald of Missenden! It was a great old name. Mr. +Brimsdown rolled it round his tongue as though it were a vintage +port--pronounced it lingeringly, rolling the "rr's" sonorously, and +hissing the "ss's" with a caressing sibilant sound. + +Turrald of Missenden! Robert Turold was the lineal descendant of the name, +and worthy of the title. Mr. Brimsdown had always felt that, from the very +first. There was something noble and dominating in his presence. Blood +told; there could be no doubt of that. + +What stronger proof of it could be found than the dogged strength with +which the dead man had persisted for thirty years in his effort to claim +as his rightful due a baronial title which had been in abeyance for four +hundred years? + +And he would have succeeded--was on the verge of success--but for this +unlucky stroke of Death's. + +With a sigh for the frailty of human hopes, Mr. Brimsdown put an end to +his reflections and went downstairs for the post. + +By the dim light of the lowered hall gas he saw an envelope lying on the +floor--a thick grey envelope addressed to himself in a thin irregular +hand. The sight of that superscription startled him like a glimpse of the +unseen. For it was the handwriting of the subject of his thoughts--Robert +Turold. + +With the stiff movement of an ageing man he picked up the letter and went +upstairs again. In some subtle way the room seemed changed. He had a +sudden inexplicable sensation of nervousness and depression. Shaking it +off with an effort, he opened the envelope in his hand with an odd +reluctance--the feeling that he was prying into something which was no +concern of his. He drew out the single grey sheet and unfolded it. The +letter was dated from Flint House on the previous day. There was but a few +lines, but the lawyer was pulled up at the beginning by the unusual +familiarity of the address. "My dear Brimsdown" was unusual in one so +formal as Robert Turold. But the handwriting was his--undoubtedly. Mr. +Brimsdown had seen it too often to be mistaken. With the growing idea that +the whole thing was confounding to sober sense and reason, he read on-- + + "Can you postpone all your other engagements and come to + Cornwall on receipt of this? If you will telegraph the train you + travel by I will have a conveyance to meet you at Penzance and + bring you to Flint House. This is a matter of importance." + +A postscript followed in the strangest contrast to the formal note--a +postscript hasty and blotted, which had evidently been added in extreme +agitation of mind-- + + "For God's sake lose no time. Come at once." + +The tremulous urgent words stared out from the surface of the grey paper +in all the piteous futility of an appeal made too late. Glancing up, Mr. +Brimsdown's eye rested on the shelf where the deed box of Robert Turold +reposed, and he mechanically reflected that it would be necessary to have +the word "Deceased" added to the white-lettered inscription on the black +surface. Mr. Brimsdown sighed. Then, shaking off the quiescence of mind +which his brooding had engendered, he applied his faculties to the +consideration of a situation which at first sight seemed fantastic as a +nightmare. + +The letter was not more remarkable than its despatch after the writer's +death, but the summons to Cornwall was not in itself surprising. He +recalled a similar visit to Norfolk some years before, and the recent +correspondence between them made it clear that the claim had reached a +stage which required careful legal handling. Robert Turold had forwarded +copies of the final proofs of the family descent discovered in Cornwall, +and Mr. Brimsdown had prepared the claim for the termination of abeyance +which was to be heard by the House of Lords. Mr. Brimsdown was also aware +of the summoning of the other members of the family to Cornwall to impart +the news to them. A very natural and proper proceeding on Robert Turold's +part, he had deemed it. + +He believed he knew every intimate detail of the ambition on which Robert +Turold had immutably set his heart. Had they not been discussed between +them, again and again, in that room--his bitterness that he had no son, +his fear that the regained title might be extinguished again in female +descent, his grievance that the succession could not be altered. It was +his dream to found a new line of Turralds, and be remembered as the head +of it. "If you could only get the descent taken outside the limits of the +original creation, Brimsdown--" The harsh voice, uttering these words, +seemed to reach Mr. Brimsdown in the muffled silence at that moment. He +had told him, again and again, that the thing was impossible. If the +Turrald barony was called out of abeyance it was an act of Royal grace and +favour. They had no rights--he insisted on that--and any attempt to +influence the Crown about the line of succession might endanger the claim. + +And now Robert Turold was dead in the midst of his plans--dead when he had +almost gained the peak of his dreams. + +It seemed incredible, almost impossible. Death at such a moment assumed an +unexpected reality as an actual and tangible mocker of human ambitions. +And this letter with its postscript--what was the meaning of it? The +lawyer knew nothing of Robert Turold's announcement to his family on the +previous day. If he had, it would have intensified his feeling that the +letter hinted at some terrible secret hidden behind the thick curtain of +his client's strange and sudden death. The hasty postscript suggested a +quickened sense of a growing danger which Robert Turold had seen too late +to avert. + +What danger? Mr. Brimsdown could form no idea. He reflected that he really +knew very little of Robert Turold's private life in spite of the long +association between them. He must have had other interests at one time or +other beside the eternal question of the title. Mr. Brimsdown had vaguely +understood that the money he had invested for Robert Turold had been +gained abroad--in the wilds of the earth--in his client's early life, but +his client had never confided to him the manner of the gathering. That was +a page in the dead man's life of which his trusted legal adviser knew +nothing whatever. It was unsafe to assume that the page, if revealed, +would throw any light on his tragic death, but there was a possibility +that it might. + +The evening newspaper he had brought home lay on the carpet at his feet +exposing the headline--"A Cornish Mystery"--which had caught his eye at +the restaurant. Mr. Brimsdown picked up the sheet and read the report +again. There was nothing in it to help him. It was only a brief +notification of the facts--of a death which, in the words of the +newspaper's local correspondent, "pointed to suicide." + +Suicide! The letter on which the ink was still bluish and fresh, seemed to +convey Robert Turold's denial of the suggestion that he had taken his +life. It was the cry of a man who had looked into the dark place of fear +and seen Death lurking within. Only mortal terror could have called forth +that passionate frantic appeal. And that appeal accomplished its purpose, +although it came too late. Robert Turold was dead, but the call for +elucidation rang loudly from his coffin. The dead man's hand beckoned him, +and he dared not disobey. He determined to go to Cornwall. + +Outside in the darkness a clock chimed, and one of his own treasures +repeated the hour with a soft mellifluous note. Eleven! He had an idea +that there was--or used to be--a midnight train to Cornwall. He crossed to +his bureau and consulted a time-table. Yes--to Penzance from Paddington. +He decided to catch it. + +His preparations for departure were quickly made. The writing of a note to +his clerk and the packing of a bag were matters soon accomplished. In a +quarter of an hour he had picked up a taxicab at the Holborn stand near +his chambers and was on his way to the station. + +There was plenty of light and stir at Paddington, which appeared like a +great and glowing cavern in the cold darkness of the night. There were +engines shunting, cabs arriving, porters and passengers rushing about with +luggage, throngs of people. It happened that the midnight train from +Cornwall was overdue, and fluttered women waiting for friends were +importuning bored officials about the delay. Sleepy children stared with +wondering eyes at pictorial efforts to beguile the tedium of waiting for +trains. There were geographical posters comparing Cornwall favourably to +Italy; posters of girls in bathing costume beckoning to "the Cornish +Riviera;" posters of frolicsome puppies in baskets ticketed "Lucky Dogs, +They're Off to Penzance." + +The passengers waiting for the midnight train to that resort did not do +equal justice to this flattering assumption of its delights. They seemed, +on the whole, rather to regard themselves as unlucky dogs (if the term +could be applied to parties of women), and were huddled together on the +station seats in attitudes suggestive of despair. Men flirting with +barmaids in the bars may have considered themselves lucky dogs, but whisky +played an important part in their exhilaration. + +The belated train came rushing in with an effusion of steam, like a late +arrival puffing out apologies, bringing a large number of passengers back +to London from Penzance. They scrambled on to the platform with the +dishevelled appearance of people who had been cooped up for hours. +First-class passengers eased their pent-up energy by shouting for luggage +porters and bundling their women into taxicabs. The third-class +passengers, whose minor importance in the scheme of things did not warrant +such displays of self-importance, made meekly and wearily for the exits. + +They were dammed back at the barriers by two ticket collectors, whose +adroit manipulation of the gates prevented more than one person trickling +through at a time, and turned the choked stream of humanity within into a +whirlpool of floating faces and struggling forms. As Mr. Brimsdown stood +regarding this distracting spectacle from the outside, he saw one of the +ticket collectors grasp the arm of a girl who was just emerging, at the +same time shutting the gate on a stout woman following, thus effectually +blocking the egress of those behind. + +The girl turned quickly at the touch of the detaining hand, and there was +fear in her face. + +"What do you want?" she said, framing the words with an obvious effort. + +The ticket collector was a man whose natural choleric temperament was +accentuated by the harassing nature of his employment. He tore in two +portions the ticket which the girl had just given him, and thrust half +into her hand. + +"Here's your return half. Why don't you look what yer doin' when givin' up +yer ticket? You women are the limit. Now, mother, for God's sake don't be +all night getting through that there barrier. There's others want to get +'ome, if you don't." + +Having by this adroit remonstrance spiked the wrath, as it were, of the +stout and angry woman he had jammed in the gate, he permitted the +resumption of the trickle of impatient passengers. + +Mr. Brimsdown followed with his eye the pretty girl who had been forgetful +enough to give up a return ticket instead of a half one. She had stopped +outside the barrier, gazing round with a troubled face at the immensity of +the station and the throngs of hurrying people. + +The lawyer looked at her hard, from a little distance. "Where have I seen +that face before?" he murmured to himself. + +Her beauty was of a sufficiently rare type to attract attention anywhere, +except, perhaps, at a London railway station at midnight. She was unused +to her surroundings and she was not a city product. So much was obvious, +though her clear pale face and slim young figure did not suggest +rusticity. Her dark eyes glanced quickly and nervously around her, and +then she started to walk slowly towards one of the main entrances. + +A luggage porter hurried towards her, intent on tips. The broad back of a +policeman was outlined in the entrance. The girl looked wistfully from the +policeman to the porter, then appeared to make up her mind. She extracted +a silver coin from her purse, and proffered it timidly to the porter. The +porter showed no timidity in accepting it. + +"Luggage, miss, in the van?" he asked. "Just you wait 'ere." + +"I have no luggage," Mr. Brimsdown heard her say. Her eyes wandered +downward to the little handbag she carried. "I wanted to ask you--I am a +stranger to London. Can you tell me a place where I could stay; for the +night--somewhere quiet and respectable?" + +Mr. Brimsdown found himself listening anxiously for the porter's reply. By +all the laws of Romance he should have had an old mother in a clean and +humble home who would have been delighted to give the girl shelter for the +sight of her pretty face. But pretty girls are plentiful in London, and +kind-hearted old women are rare. The porter seemed surprised at the +inquiry. He pushed his blue cap back from a shock of red hair, and +pondered the question deeply. Then he made a valiant feint of earning his +shilling by throwing out suggestions of temperance hotels in Russell +Square and the Euston Road. He warmed to the subject and depicted the +attractions of these places. Quiet and cheap, and nothing respectabler in +the 'ole city of London. They was open at all hours. His own sister stayed +in one when she come to town. + +"Would you give me the address?" the girl wistfully asked. + +The porter shook his head cautiously. He had evidently no intention of +pawning his sister's reputation for a shilling given him by a strange girl +who might have designs on the spoons of temperance hotels. + +"How do I get to Euston Road?" asked the girl with a quick realization of +the fact that she had obtained London value for her shilling. + +"By the Metropolitan." He pointed to a blazing subterranean archway which +at that late hour was still vomiting forth a mass of people. "Book at the +first winder." + +Mr. Brimsdown watched the girl until she disappeared out of sight down the +steps. He then turned away to seek his own train, the insistent feeling +still haunting him that he had seen her pretty wistful face before. He +taxed his memory to recall where, but memory made no response. It seemed a +long time ago--like a glimpse from the face of the dead. Mr. Brimsdown +strove to put the idea from him as a trick of the imagination. + +He beckoned to a porter, who took his bag to a first-class carriage in the +Penzance train. Mr. Brimsdown settled himself comfortably in a corner +seat. A few minutes later the train moved out on the long night journey to +Penzance. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + + +The clock in Dr. Ravenshaw's study ticked loudly in the perfect stillness +and then struck ten with a note of metallic derision as though rejoicing +in the theft of an hour from a man who prided himself on knowing the value +of time. Startled to find that it was so late, Barrant sprang to his feet +and rang the bell. A sleepy Cornish maid appeared in answer, and Barrant +informed her that he could not wait any longer. + +"The doctor may be in at any time now, sir," the girl eagerly assured him, +as though she were in league with the clock to steal more of his time. + +"I will call again," said Barrant curtly. + +"Any message, sir? Oh, here's the doctor now. A gentleman to see you, +sir." + +Dr. Ravenshaw advanced into the room. He looked tired and weary, as if he +had spent a long vigil by a patient. He dismissed the girl with a nod, and +turned inquiringly to his visitor. + +"I am Detective Barrant, doctor; I have waited to see you on my way back +from Flint House. I am investigating the case." + +"Yes?" said the doctor inquiringly. "Please be seated." + +"It is a strange case, you know," began the detective. "And one of the +strange things about it is that the dead man's relatives differ whether it +is murder or suicide. That's what brings me to you. You are a medical man, +and you knew Robert Turold intimately. Would you consider him a man of +suicidal tendencies?" + +"Many men have tendencies towards suicide at odd moments," replied the +doctor, "particularly men of Robert Turold's temperament." + +"Was there anything in Robert Turold's demeanour which suggested to you +recently that he valued his life lightly, or was likely to take it?" + +"I would rather not give a definite opinion on that point. I have to give +evidence at the inquest, you know." + +Barrant nodded. He realized the force of the doctor's objection to the +expression of a view which might be proved erroneous later. So he turned +to another phase of the case. + +"You saw Robert Turold's body soon after you arrived at Flint House?" + +"Within a few minutes." + +"How long had he been dead?" + +"About ten minutes, I should say." + +"What was the cause of death?" + +"He was shot through the main blood vessel of the left lung. It was +possible to arrive at that conclusion from the very severe haemorrhage. +The blood was still flowing freely when we broke into the room. That would +cause death from heart failure, following the haemorrhage, within two or +three minutes, in all probability." + +"He was quite dead when you entered the study?" + +"Quite." + +"How long after was the body carried into the bedroom?" + +"An hour or more. It was some time before Pengowan arrived, and Thalassa +and he removed the body a little later." + +Barrant looked disappointed at his reply. "Would it be possible to make +marks on a corpse after that length of time?" he asked. + +"What sort of marks?" asked the doctor. + +"There was a mark of five fingers on the left arm, made by a left hand." + +"Then you have finger-prints to help you?" + +"Unfortunately no. It's a grip--a clutch--which, will not reveal print +marks in the impressions. I thought they might have been caused during the +removal of the body." + +"It is not possible to make such marks on a corpse. Reaction sets in at +the moment of death. Sometimes blue spots appear on a dead body, and such +appearances have been occasionally mistaken for bruises." + +"Did you observe any marks when you examined the body?" asked Barrant as +he rose to his feet. + +"No, but my examination was confined to ascertaining if life was extinct." + +Barrant thanked him and said good night. The doctor rose also, and +escorted him to the door. + +Outside, a wild west wind sprang at him. Barrant pulled his hat over his +eyes and hurried away. + +The following morning he sought out Inspector Dawfield at his office in +Penzance and disclosed to him his conclusions about the case. + +"I intend to go to London by this morning's train, Dawfield," he +announced. "We must find Robert Turold's daughter." + +"You think she has gone to London?" + +"I feel sure of it, and I do not think it will be difficult to trace her. +I shall try first at Paddington. I will get the warrant for her arrest +backed at Bow Street, and put a couple of good men on the search before +returning here. You had better have the inquest adjourned until I come +back. This is no suicide, Dawfield, but a deep and skilfully planned +murder." + +"I should think the flight of the girl makes that pretty clear," said +Dawfield, as he made a note on his office pad. + +Barrant shook his head. "It's too strange a case for us to have any +feeling of certainty about it yet," he said. "There is some very deep +mystery behind the facts. Every step of my investigation convinces me of +that. The disappearance of Miss Turold does not explain everything." + +"She was up at Flint House on that night, and now she is not to be found. +Surely that is enough?" + +"This is not a straightforward case. It's going to prove a very +complicated one. But I have come to the conclusion that the quickest way +to get at the truth is to find Sisily Turold. Her flight suggests that she +is implicated in the crime in some way, and it may even mean that she is +guilty." + +"Do not the circumstances point to her guilt?" + +"Circumstances can lie with the facility of humanity, at times. Moreover, +we do not know all the circumstances yet. But let us examine the facts we +have discovered. We believe that the girl visited her father's house on +the night of his death, and has since disappeared. We must assume that it +was she who was seen listening at the door during the afternoon by Mrs. +Pendleton, because that assumption provides strong motive for the murder +by giving the key of interpretation to Miss Turold's subsequent actions. +We must picture the effect of that overheard conversation on the girl's +mind. She had been kept in ignorance about the secret of her birth, and +she suddenly discovers that instead of being a prospective peeress and +heiress, she is only an illegitimate daughter, a nameless thing, a +reproach in a world governed by moral conventions. Her prospects, her +future, and her life are shattered by her father's act. The effect might +well be overwhelming. She broods over the wrong done to her, and decides +to go to Flint House that night and see her father, though not, I think, +with the premeditated idea of murder. Her idea was to plead and +remonstrate with him." + +"Why do you think that?" asked Dawfield. + +"She could not have foreseen that her absence from the hotel would pass +unnoticed. That was pure luck, due to Mrs. Pendleton's chance visit to +Flint House. It was just chance that the girl did not encounter her aunt +there. She must have got away from Flint House shortly before Mrs. +Pendleton arrived. But the strongest proof that there was no premeditation +is to be found in the fact that Miss Turold made the journey openly, in a +public conveyance." + +"And returned the same way," put in Dawfield. + +"I confess that her action in taking that risk after the murder strikes me +as remarkable," observed Barrant thoughtfully. "But she would be anxious +to return as speedily as possible, and perhaps she was aware that the last +wagonette from St. Fair to Penzance is generally empty. But we can only +speculate about that. She must have reached Flint House not later than +half-past eight or perhaps a few minutes earlier, if she walked quickly +across the moors. I ascertained that by taking the same wagonette last +night, and walking across the moors from the cross-roads, as she did. The +murder was not committed until half-past nine, according to the stopped +clock, which is another point suggesting lack of premeditation. Let us +assume that up to the time she arrived at Flint House she had no intention +of murdering her father. She knocked, and was perhaps admitted by +Thalassa, and went up to her father's room. What happened during that +interview? We do not know, but we are told that Robert Turold was a man of +harsh, unyielding disposition, the slave of his single idea, which was the +acquisition of a lost title. Such a man was not likely to be moved by +pleading or threats. We must imagine a long and angry scene, culminating +in the daughter snatching up her father's revolver and shooting him." + +"Thalassa told Pengowan that Robert Turold kept the revolver in the drawer +of his writing table," Dawfield remarked. + +"I have read Pengowan's report," returned Barrant impatiently, "and I am +assuming that Robert Turold's daughter knew where it was kept. This is a +purely constructive theory of her guilt, and we have to assume many +things. We must further assume that when she left the room she locked the +door behind her and brought away the key in order to suggest suicide. When +she got downstairs she told Thalassa the truth, and begged him to shield +her. He promised to do so, and when the door of the study was broken open +he took an opportunity to drop the key on the floor, in order to suggest +the idea that Robert Turold had locked himself in his room before shooting +himself, and that the key was jolted out of the lock when the door was +burst in. It was an infernally clever thing to do. That's the case against +the girl, Dawfield. What do you think of it?" + +"It sounds convincing enough." + +"It would sound more convincing to me if it was entirely consistent with +the other facts of the case. Have you those sheets of unfinished writing +which were found in Robert Turold's study?" + +Dawfield produced two sheets of foolscap from his desk. Barrant laid them +on the table, and examined them with a magnifying glass. + +"It is certain that Robert Turold did not put down his pen voluntarily," +he said. "He stopped involuntarily, in the midst of a word. That suggests +great surprise or sudden shock. The letter 'e' in the word 'clear' +terminates in a sprawling dash and a jab from the nib which has almost +pierced the paper. Could the unexpected appearance of his daughter have +startled him in that fashion? It rather suggests that somebody sprang on +him unawares, surprising him so much that he almost stuck the pen through +the paper." + +"Might not that have been his daughter?" + +"Women scratch like cats when they use violence, but they do not spring +like tigers. I have been examining those marks on Robert Turold's arm +again, and I have come to the conclusion that they were made by somebody +in a violent passion." + +"I have the photographs here," said Dawfield, rummaging in a drawer. "They +do not help us at all. There are no finger-prints--nothing but blurs." + +Barrant glanced at the photographs and pushed them aside. + +"I have been thinking a lot about those marks," he said. "They strike me +as a very important clue. I have been examining them very closely, and +discovered the faint impression of finger-nails in the marks left by the +first and second fingers. That suggests that the owner of the hand was in +a state of ferocity and tightened nerves." + +"I do not see that." + +"Allow me to experiment on your arm. When I grip you firmly, as I do now, +you can feel my fingers pressing their whole length on your flesh, can you +not?" + +"I can indeed," said Dawfield, wincing. "You've a pretty powerful grip. I +shall be black and blue." + +"The grip on Robert Turold's arm is quite a different thing," pursued +Barrant earnestly. "Do not be afraid, I am not going to demonstrate again. +It was more in the nature of a pounce--a sort of tiger-spring hold, made +by somebody in a state of great mental excitement, with tightened muscles +which caused a tense clutch with the finger-tips, the nails digging into +the skin, the fingers bent and wide apart. My opinion is that it is a +man's grip." + +"Thalassa?" + +"That I cannot say. He's a cunning and wary devil, and I could get nothing +out of him last night. He says he was in the coal cellar when his master +met his death. That's where he showed his cleverness in protecting himself +as well as shielding the girl, because if he was actually down in the coal +cellar she might have gained entrance to the house and left it again +without Thalassa knowing anything about it. He says that he admitted +nobody, and heard nobody." + +"Perhaps he helped in the murder, and sprang on his master." + +"That is possible. But why should Thalassa spring on his master in +maniacal excitement? To secure the revolver to shoot him? I can see no +other reason. What happened afterwards? Robert Turold wasn't shot +immediately. Some seconds, perhaps minutes, elapsed. What took place in +that brief yet vital space of time? Did Thalassa hold his master in a grim +clutch while the girl took the revolver out of the drawer and shot him? +What took Robert Turold to the clock in his dying moments? These are +questions we cannot answer at present. But it is certain that whoever +committed the murder left the room immediately after firing the shot, and +the door was locked on the outside and the key removed. If the daughter +committed the murder it was probably Thalassa who replaced the key in the +room afterwards." + +"Have you any doubt on that point?" + +"The probabilities point to Thalassa, but it was Austin Turold who +actually picked up the key. It is as well not to lose sight of that fact." + +Inspector Dawfield looked up quickly, but his colleague's face revealed +nothing of his thoughts. + +"Hadn't you some idea that the marks on the arm might have been caused by +the removal of the body into the next room?" he hazarded. + +"Not now," Barrant replied. "That theory was only tenable on the +supposition that life was not completely extinct when the body was +removed. But I interviewed Dr. Ravenshaw on that point last night, and +what he told me disposes of that theory." + +"I heard something from one of my men this morning which may have some +bearing on the case," remarked Dawfield. "There has been a lot of local +gossip about it. Robert Turold was generally regarded as very eccentric. +When he crossed the moors from the churchtown to Flint House it was his +custom to go almost at a run, glancing over his shoulder as he went, as if +afraid." + +"I have heard nothing of this," commented Barrant. "Is the story to be +believed, do you think?" + +"A fisherman of the churchtown told my man in a graphic sort of way. He +says that Robert Turold had a dog which he used to take with him on these +walks, and he says that the master used to cover the ground with such +great strides that the dog had to run after him panting, with lolling +tongue." + +"That sounds stretched," said Barrant. "Most fishermen exaggerate. +However, I'll look up this man when I return, and question him. It never +does to throw away a chance." He glanced at his watch and rose to his +feet. "I'll be off now to catch the train. If anything important occurs +during my absence you'd better send me a wire to Scotland Yard." + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + + +It was from Mrs. Pendleton that Mr. Brimsdown gained his first real +knowledge of the drama of strange events surrounding Robert Turold's +death. In response to his call at the hotel she came down from her room +fingering his card nervously, her eyes reddened with weeping, and an air +of tremulous bewilderment about her which sat ill on her massive +personality. + +The lawyer greeted her with formal courtesy. He was newly shaved and +bathed, his linen was spotless, and his elderly grey eyes looked out with +alert watchfulness on a world of trickery. + +"As your late brother's legal adviser for many years, I felt it incumbent +upon me to come down," he said, fixing a grave glance on the distracted +lady before him. "It seemed to me that I might be of some use, perhaps, +assistance. That is the object of my call." + +The fact that she had not seen Mr. Brimsdown before did not lessen the +hysterical gratitude with which Mrs. Pendleton received this piece of +information. The events of the last forty-eight hours had shaken her +badly. Her brother's tragic death, and the terrible suspicion which +enveloped Sisily, had stripped her of her strength, and left her with a +feminine longing to cast her burden on a man's shoulders. She had +discovered to her dismay that a husband who has been snubbed and kept +under for twenty years is apt to prove a thing of straw when a woman likes +to feel that the male sex was devised by Providence to take the wheel from +female hands if the barque of life drifts on the breakers. But Mr. +Pendleton had revealed no latent capacity to play the part of the strong +man at the helm in the crisis. He had shown himself a craven and kept out +of the way, leaving his wife to her own resources. The appearance of Mr. +Brimsdown was as timely to her as the arrival of a heaven-sent pilot in a +storm. + +"Thank you," she murmured incoherently. "Such a dreadful end. Poor dear +Robert." She sobbed into her handkerchief. + +"A deplorable loss to his family--and England," assented the lawyer. "I am +glad to see you. They ascertained your address for me at the hotel where I +am staying. I have been resting after travelling all night, and I shall go +and see the police in the morning. So far I have only read the reports in +the London evening papers, and there may be intimate particulars which +were not disclosed to the press. If such exist, perhaps you will impart +them to me. You need not hesitate to disclose to me all you know. Your +late brother honoured me with his confidence for nearly thirty years." Mr. +Brimsdown coughed discreetly. + +His tone invited confidences which Mrs. Pendleton, in her perplexity of +spirit, was only too anxious to impart to a sympathetic ear. Mr. +Brimsdown, sitting stiffly upright, his eyes fixed on a portrait of +Royalty glimmering inanely down at them through a dirty glass frame on the +opposite wall, listened with unmoved front. Yet the story had its +surprises, even for him. Not the least of them was the fact that Mrs. +Pendleton's description of her niece tallied with the appearance of the +girl whose identity he had tried to recall at Paddington. He was chagrined +to think he had failed to recognize his late client's daughter, but he +recalled that it was ten years since he had seen Sisily, who was then a +dark-eyed little girl. At Norfolk. Oh, yes! he remembered her readily +enough now, playing innocently about some forgotten tombstones in a +deserted graveyard on a wild grey coast, while her father wrested savagely +with the dead for his heritage. Strange that he should have met her again +at the moment of her flight, when he was setting out for Cornwall in +response to her dead father's letter! Life had such ironical mischances. + +He said nothing of this chance encounter, or of Robert Turold's letter, to +the dead man's sister who was now pouring out her fears and suspicions to +him. He was a receptacle into which confidences might be emptied, but he +gave nothing in return. Mrs. Pendleton did not need that. Her state of +mind compelled her to speak, and her impulsiveness hurried her along on +the high tide of a flood of words. The story she had to tell oppressed her +listener with the sense of some great unknown horror. It was like trying +to see a dark place by lightning. The flashes of her revelations revealed +a distorted surface, but not the hidden depths. Mrs. Pendleton's agitated +mind, doubling in and out a maze of conjectures like a distracted hare, +turned again and again to the question of Sisily's complicity in her +father's death. + +"I can hardly believe it even now," she said with a shudder. "Such a sweet +pretty girl! And yet--there was something strange in her manner. I +remarked it to Joseph--my husband--before this happened." She pressed her +handkerchief to her eyes. + +The lawyer, with a sideways glance at the Royal portrait opposite, which +seemed in the act of smiling blandly at his companion's grief, reflected, +soberly enough, that sweet and pretty girls were as human as the rest of +creation, if it came to that. + +"Charlie Turold--my nephew, you know--will have it that she is innocent." + +"In spite of her disappearance?" + +"Yes. He came this morning, before I was up, to see if I knew where Sisily +had gone. After tea he came again in a terrible state, raving against the +detective for taking out a warrant for her arrest. He said it was madness +on his part to imagine that a girl like Sisily would kill her father. I +told him that as Sisily had disappeared he could hardly blame the police +for looking for her. He turned on me when I said that, and used such +violent language that I was quite frightened of him. But I make +allowances, of course." + +"Why?" the lawyer asked, looking at her. + +"I think Charlie is very fond of Sisily," murmured Mrs. Pendleton with +womanly intuition. + +"Do you mean that they love each other?" said the lawyer, regarding her +attentively. + +"I cannot say about Sisily. And I never guessed it of Charlie until this +morning. I'm sure poor Robert had no idea of it. He would never have +agreed--after what he told us on the day of the funeral, I mean." + +Mr. Brimsdown gave a tacit unspoken assent to that. Some men might have +welcomed such a solution of an ugly family scandal, but not Robert Turold, +with his fierce pride for the honour of the title which he had sought to +gain. + +"Is your nephew's belief in Miss Turold's innocence based on anything +stronger than assertion? Does he suspect any one else?" + +"He did not say so. He was very excited, and talked on and on, without +listening to me in the least. He seems very impulsive and headstrong. I +noticed that on the day of the funeral. When Robert told us about his +marriage, Charles said to him that his first duty was to his daughter. +Robert looked so angry." + +"I can well believe it," murmured the lawyer. "The young man must have +courage." + +"Oh yes, he served with distinction in the war," Mrs. Pendleton innocently +rejoined. "In temperament he takes after me, I think, more than after his +father. Austin and I never did think alike. We even disagreed over poor +Robert's terrible death. Austin thought he had ... destroyed himself." Her +voice dropped to a shocked whisper. + +"On what grounds did he base that belief?" Mr. Brimsdown cautiously asked. + +"He thought the circumstances pointed to it," she rejoined. "But I knew +better--I knew Robert would never do anything so dreadful. Besides, had I +not seen that horrible old man-servant glaring through the door? That is +why I went to the police." + +As Mrs. Pendleton showed a tendency to repeat herself, Mr. Brimsdown rose +to terminate the interview. Mrs. Pendleton rose, too, but she had not yet +reached the end of her surprises for him. + +"And then there's Robert's will--so strange! Really--" + +"The will! What will?" interrupted the lawyer testily. "Did your brother +make his will down here?" + +"Yes. A will drawn up by a local lawyer--a man with the extraordinary name +of Bunkom--a most terrible little creature. Bunkom, indeed!" continued +Mrs. Pendleton, shaking her head with a feeble assumption of +sprightliness. "Everything is left to my brother Austin. I do not mind in +the least about myself. After all, Robert and I met almost as strangers +after many years, and I want nothing from him. But his treatment of this +unfortunate girl, his daughter, is really too dreadful. I do not wish to +speak ill of the dead, but I must say that much, whether Sisily had +anything to do with Robert's death or not, for, of course, Robert couldn't +have known about that at the time--when he made his will, I mean," +concluded Mrs. Pendleton, in some confusion of mind. + +"It is strange that your brother did not consult me before drawing up this +will," said Mr. Brimsdown. + +"Perhaps he imagined you might persuade him against it," sighed Mrs. +Pendleton. "It is all very strange. I do not understand it a bit." + +Mr. Brimsdown thought it strange, then and afterwards. Next day, after +going to the police station and handing Robert Turold's letter to +Inspector Dawfield, he sought out the Penzance lawyer who had drawn up the +will. Mr. Bunkom was a spidery little man who spun his legal webs in a +small dark office at the top of Market Jew Street, a solicitor with a +servile manner but an eye like a fox, which dwelt on his eminent confrère +from London, as he perused the will, with an expression which it was just +as well that Mr. Brimsdown didn't see, so sly and savage was it. The +Penzance spider knew his business. The will was watertight and properly +attested. The bulk of the property was bequeathed to Austin Turold +unconditionally. There were only two other bequests. Robert Turold had +placed Thalassa and Sisily ("my illegitimate daughter") on an equality by +bequeathing to them annuities of £50 a year each. Austin Turold and Mr. +Brimsdown were named as joint executors, and that was all. + +Mr. Brimsdown would not have occupied such a distinguished place in the +legal profession if he had not been a firm believer in the sacred English +tradition that a man has the right to dispose of his own property as he +thinks fit. Moreover, his legal mind realized the folly of speculating +over the reasons which had prompted this hurried will when the man who had +made it was beyond the reach of argument, reproof, or cross-examination. + +But the lack of all mention of the title was a different matter, calling +for investigation. It was remarkable that a man like Robert Turold should +have gone to the grave without binding his heir to prosecute the claim for +the Turrald title. To that end Robert Turold had devoted his life, and to +the upkeep of the title he had proposed to devote his fortune. The absence +of this precaution puzzled Mr. Brimsdown considerably at first, but as he +pondered over the matter he began to see the reason. Robert Turold was so +close to the summit of his ambition that he had not thought it necessary +to take precautions. He was a strong man, and strong men rarely think of +death. Once the title was his, it descended as a matter of course to his +brother, and then to his brother's son--provided, of course, that the +proofs of his daughter's illegitimacy were in existence. + +That conclusion carried another in its wake. If Robert Turold had not +safeguarded his dearest ambition because he hoped to carry it out himself, +it followed as a matter of course that he did not take his own life. Mr. +Brimsdown had never accepted that theory, but it was strange to have it so +conclusively proved, as it were, by the inference of an omission. That +brought the lawyer back to the position that some foreboding or warning of +his murder had caused Robert Turold to summon him to Cornwall by letter. +The next step of his investigations led Mr. Brimsdown to the dead man's +study, where that frantic appeal had been penned. + +He engaged a vehicle at the hotel and drove over to Flint House in the +afternoon. The impression of that visit remained. Flint House, rising from +the basalt summit of the headland like a granite vault, its windows coldly +glistening down on the frothy green gloom of the Atlantic far beneath, the +country trap and lean black horse at the flapping gate, the undertaker's +man (dissolute parasite of austere Death) slinking out of the house, and +Thalassa waiting at the open door for him to approach--all these things +were engraved on Mr. Brimsdown's mind, never to be forgotten. Who was it +that had staged such a crime in such a proscenium, in that vast +amphitheatre of black rocks which stretched dizzily down beneath those +gleaming windows? + +Then came other impressions: the dead man upstairs, the disordered dusty +study, the stopped clock, the litter of papers. It was in the room where +Robert Turold had been murdered that Mr. Brimsdown questioned Thalassa +about the letter, and heard with a feeling of dismay his declaration that +he had not posted it. Where was the nearest pillar box? Nearly a mile +away, at the cross-roads. Could his late master have gone there to post it +that night? If he had, Thalassa hadn't heard him go out. Could anybody +else have posted it? No; there was nobody else to post it. + +It was like questioning a head on an old Roman coin, so expressionless was +Thalassa's face as he delivered himself of these replies. But the lawyer +had the feeling that Thalassa was deriving a certain grim satisfaction +from his questioner's perplexity, and he dismissed him somewhat angrily. +Then, when he had gone, he turned to an examination of some of the papers +and documents which littered the room, but that was a search which told +him nothing. + +When the shades of evening warned him to relinquish that task, he told +himself that he really ought to go and see Austin Turold before returning +to Penzance. But he shrank, with unaccountable reluctance, from the +performance of that obvious duty. He felt very old and tired, and his +temples were throbbing with a bad nervous headache. He therefore decided +to postpone his visit to Austin Turold until later. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + + +When the interview with Austin Turold did take place, Mr. Brimsdown learnt +with a feeling which was little less than astonishment that Robert Turold +had died without confiding to his brother the proofs, on which so much +depended, of the statement he had made on the day of his death. + +"I cannot understand it," he murmured, putting down his tea-cup as he +spoke. + +Austin had received him in the blue sitting-room, hung with the specimens +of Mr. Brierly's ineffectual art, and had given him tea, as he had given +Barrant tea some days before. But there was a subtle difference in the +manner of Mr. Brimsdown's reception; the tone was pitched higher, with +fine shades and inflections attuned for a more gentlemanly ear. + +"It disposes of the suicide theory finally and utterly," added the lawyer +thoughtfully. + +"The suicide theory disappeared with Robert's daughter," said Austin, +glancing at his son, who had taken no part in the conversation. + +"You think her disappearance suggests guilt?" asked Mr. Brimsdown. + +"It hardly suggests innocence, does it?" + +"I would not like to hazard an opinion," responded Mr. Brimsdown, with a +thoughtful shake of the head. "My experience of women is that they are +capable of the strangest acts without weighing the consequences." + +"That was before the war, when women were delightfully irrational +creatures, but now they're no longer so. They've become practical and +coarse, like men. They smoke, drink, and tell improper stories with demure +expression and heads a little on one side like overwise sparrows." + +"Was Robert Turold's daughter a girl of this sort?" asked the lawyer in +surprise. + +"She was not." + +It was Charles Turold who made answer, with an angry glance at his father. +Austin, looking at him, gave an almost imperceptible shake of the head. +Slight as the warning was, it was intercepted by Mr. Brimsdown's watchful +eye, and he wondered what it meant. + +"I do not think any useful purpose can be gained by discussing my +brother's death," Austin interposed, turning to him. "It is a very painful +subject, and does no good. The police are endeavouring to unravel the +mystery--let us leave it to them." + +"I was merely going to say that your brother would have given you the +proofs of this statement about his marriage if he had meditated +self-destruction," Mr. Brimsdown observed. "The proofs must be in +existence, of course, but I do not think that they are at Flint House. Did +your brother confide the information to you beforehand--before his public +announcement, I mean?" + +"Shortly before his death he hinted to me of some very important +disclosure which he intended to make at the proper time--some family +matter--but he did not say what it was, nor did I ask him." + +His son looked at him quickly, and the lawyer doubtfully, as he made this +statement, but his own glance sustained both looks serenely and equably. + +"My brother did inform me, a week ago, that I would succeed to his +fortune," he added. + +"That proves that your brother was aware of the illegality of his marriage +at that time," said Mr. Brimsdown, with an air of conviction. + +"Why so?" + +"Because you could not succeed to the Turrald title if your brother's +daughter was legitimate." + +"That would not prevent my brother disposing of his property as he thought +fit," remarked Austin coldly. + +"I am aware of that," replied Mr. Brimsdown guardedly. He refrained from +stating what was obvious to him, that Robert Turold had intended his +fortune for the upkeep of the title when gained, and for no other purpose. +"After all, it does not matter very much how long your brother was aware +of the fact. The great point is--where are the proofs? I cannot understand +why your brother did not send them on to me. I intend to make another and +longer search among his papers at Flint House. They must be found. The +House of Lords will require the most convincing proof on this head before +terminating the abeyance in your favour." + +"If I proceed with the claim, you mean," said Austin. + +The lawyer turned on him a startled glance which had something of +consternation in it. His own interest in the title, was, by force of long +association with Robert Turold, so deep and intimate that it had never +occurred to him to suppose that the younger brother might not share in the +obsession of the elder. + +"Titles are at a discount nowadays--like virtuous women," proceeded +Austin. "The most extraordinary people have them. Are you aware that there +were nearly four thousand names in the last Royal bestowal of Orders of +the British Empire? There's kingly munificence for you! It's the same with +the Masonic order. The gentleman you address as 'Right Worshipful Sir' +overnight delivers poultry and rabbits at your back door next morning. +Democracy has come into its own, Brimsdown. Sooner or later we shall have +a king wearing a cloth cap." + +"Your remarks do not apply to the old nobility," returned Mr. Brimsdown +austerely. "They will never become common. It would be a pity not to +prosecute your brother's claim to the Turrald title. He gave thirty years +of his life to establishing the line of descent." + +"My brother had the temperament of a visionary," replied Austin. "I am +more practical. But I shall respect his wishes, if possible, though from +what you say it would seem to be quite useless to go on with the claim if +the missing proofs about his wife's previous marriage are not recovered." + +"That is quite true," Mr. Brimsdown admitted. "But I feel sure that they +are in existence, somewhere. Your brother Robert was not the man to make a +statement of that kind without the proofs. He knew the value of +documentary evidence too well for that." + +"But so far the proof of his daughter's illegitimacy rests on his +unsupported statement, which would be quite valueless in a court of law?" + +"That is so." + +"If these proofs are found, do you think that my chance of regaining the +title is as good as Robert's?" Austin asked. "Are the circumstances of his +death likely to tell against my succeeding? I ask you because I know +nothing about peerage law." + +"The House of Lords has inherent rights of its own in regard to the +granting of any claim," replied the lawyer carefully, "rights as the +guardian of its own privileges. I do not think, however, that your claim +would be rejected. The line of descent is clear, if the proofs of your +brother's statement are found. The Turrald barony is a parliamentary +peerage which descends to a sole daughter. You can only succeed your +brother in the line of descent if she is illegitimate." + +"In any case the present claim could not be gone on with, could it?" + +"No. That must be withdrawn. I will write to the Home Secretary +acquainting him with your brother's death. Later on, if we find the +proofs, another claim can be prepared on your behalf." + +"If I decide to go on with it." + +"I trust that you will," said the lawyer. "It was your brother's dream to +restore the title with a male line of descent." + +"His dream will be fruitless so far as I am concerned," said Charles +Turold, who had been listening intently to this conversation. "I shall +have nothing to do with this title." He got up, and strode abruptly from +the room without another word. + +Mr. Brimsdown was a little surprised at the lack of manners evinced by +this precipitate departure, but arose without speaking to take his own +leave. Austin did not offer to escort him downstairs. He rang the bell, +which was answered by the gaunt maid who had been engaged to sit as +Britannia or the Madonna, and to her he consigned his departing visitor +after a soft pressure of his white hand. + +The maid preceded the lawyer down the staircase with a martial step which +outstripped his, and waited at the foot for him to complete the descent. +As Mr. Brimsdown reached the last stair, a door immediately opposite +opened, and a lady came out. Mr. Brimsdown glanced at her casually in +passing, and encountered her glance in return. In that brief look he +observed the dawn of swift surprise in her eyes. Her careworn face +flushed, and she made an eager step forward, as though about to speak. +Somewhat surprised at this action on her part, Mr. Brimsdown hesitated, +then, reflecting that he had probably misinterpreted a chance movement on +the part of a perfect stranger, went towards the door, which the maid was +holding open for him. As he passed through he glanced back, and to his +astonishment saw the woman in the passage still standing in the same spot, +staring fixedly after him, apparently in a state of consternation or +amazement, he could not say which. + +He went out of the door with a vision of her questioning gaze following +him as far as she could see him. He did not think any more of it just +then. A lowering sky suggested rain, and he set off at a round pace for +the inn where he had left the vehicle which had brought him to the +churchtown. + +But quickly as he walked, a footstep behind him was quicker still, and he +turned involuntarily to see who was following. Another surprise was in +store for him. The tall figure hurrying after him, with the evident +intention of overtaking him, was Charles Turold. The lawyer stood still +and waited for him. + +"I have come after you to tell you something," Charles said abruptly, +"something that you ought to know. You were questioning my father about +the facts of this case--about my uncle's death. You did not learn anything +from him, but I can tell you my cousin Sisily is innocent." + +He brought out these words with a breathlessness which may have been the +result of his haste. The calmness of the lawyer's reply was in marked +contrast. + +"Is this merely an assertion, Mr. Turold?" + +"It is more than an assertion. I can prove it to you." + +Mr. Brimsdown was startled. "What do you mean by that?" he asked. + +"If you will come to Flint House I will show you." + +Mr. Brimsdown stroked the cautious chin of an old man plunged into a +situation which he could not fathom. "Would it not be better to consult +the police first?" he temporized. + +"The police are now searching the country for Sisily, and there is no time +to be lost." + +There was something so profoundly unhappy in his appearance that pity +stirred in the lawyer's heart. "Very well," he said, with another look at +the lowering sky, "let us go." + +That afternoon remained with the lawyer as another unforgettable memory. +It was all of a piece, sombre, yet of a sharp-edged vividness: the +desolation of the moors, the sting of the rain, the clamour of the sea, +the seabirds soaring slowly with harsh cries. Then they stood, the pair of +them, in Robert Turold's bedroom, looking down on the dead man, swathed in +his graveclothes, with a wreath of flowers from Mrs. Pendleton on his +breast. Removing this symbol of human pretense against the reality of +things, Charles Turold bared the arm of the corpse, and pointing to it +exclaimed-- + +"Could those marks have been made by Sisily?" + +In his examination of the marks thus revealed to him, Mr. Brimsdown had +the strange feeling that their existence was, in some way, the +justification of the dead man's summons to him. + +"Do you know how these marks were made?" he said, turning to Charles. + +"I do not. But I do know that they prove that Sisily is innocent." + +Charles Turold spoke defiantly, but there was a slight note of +interrogation in his voice which the lawyer chose to ignore. + +"They were made by a man's hand," the young man persisted, looking +earnestly at him. + +"Do the police know of them?" + +"That I cannot tell you." + +Another question was in Mr. Brimsdown's mind, but the young man's haggard +face, the mingled misery and expectation of his glance, checked the +utterance of it. He had the idea that Charles's manner suggested something +more--some revelation yet to come. But the young man did not speak. + +"Is this all you wanted to show me?" Mr. Brimsdown hinted. + +"Is it not enough?" + +"I do not see that it throws any light on Miss Turold's disappearance. Can +you explain that?" + +"How can I explain what I do not know?" Charles was silent for a moment, +then added bitterly. "It may be because of her father's inhuman conduct." + +"Robert Turold is dead--do not use that tone in speaking of him," the +lawyer counselled. + +Charles turned on him a peculiar look. "Do you think the world is the +loser by his death?" he said. + +Mr. Brimsdown was moved out of himself to declare that the death of Robert +Turold was a distinct loss to the world. "He was a wonderful man--a +notable personality," he said emphatically. + +Charles gave him a moody glance, and there fell upon them a silence so +complete that the dead man in the bed seemed to share in it. The lawyer +had an acute perception of the fact that he had handled the situation +badly. He intuitively realized that he had put himself into the opposite +camp to Charles's sympathies by the uncompromising partisanship of his +last remarks. He was convinced that until that moment, Charles had been +meditating the question of some further disclosure. Mr. Brimsdown +regretted afterwards that he made no effort to gain his confidence. He +felt that if he had done so events might have taken a different course. +But it is difficult to bring youth and age together. Youth sometimes +yields to impulse, but not age. The lurking devil of self-consciousness +whispers caution as the safer quality. Mr. Brimsdown hearkened to the +whisper, and stood there in silence, while the minutes slipped by which +might have bridged the gap. + +There was a quick step in the passage outside, and the door opened to +admit Detective Barrant. He looked inquiringly from one to the other, and +addressed himself to the lawyer. + +"Are you Mr. Brimsdown?" he asked. + +"That is my name," the lawyer replied. + +"I am Detective Barrant of Scotland Yard. I wish to speak to you +privately." + +His emphasis on the last word was not lost on Charles Turold. With a +slight indifferent nod to Mr. Brimsdown he went out of the room, closing +the door quietly behind him. + +"I have come to see you about this letter which you left with Inspector +Dawfield." Barrant produced the letter and took the single sheet from the +grey envelope. + +"That is the reason of my presence in Cornwall," said Mr. Brimsdown. + +"So I imagined. What can you tell me about it?" + +"Very little, except that I received it by the last post at my chambers in +Lincoln's Inn Fields the night after Robert Turold's death." + +"But why did he send for you?" + +"That I cannot even guess." + +"You surely must have some idea." + +"If I had I should be only too happy to assist the course of justice by +imparting it to you." + +There was a dryness in the tone of this reply which warned Barrant that he +had made a blunder in allowing his irritation to get the better of him. +But his private opinion was that the letter was the outcome of some secret +of the dead man's which he had imparted to his lawyer. He changed his mood +with supple swiftness, in order to extract the information. + +"This letter suggests certain things," he said, "some secret, perhaps, in +Robert Turold's life, of which you may have some inkling. If you will give +me some hint as to what it was, it might be very helpful." + +"Unfortunately, I am as much in the dark as yourself," returned Mr. +Brimsdown, rubbing his brow thoughtfully. "I cannot make the faintest guess +at the reason which called forth this letter. I know next to nothing of my +late client's private life. He was a man of the utmost reticence in +personal matters. My relations with him were not of that nature." + +This reply was delivered with a sincerity which it was impossible to +doubt. In palpable disappointment Barrant turned to a renewed scrutiny of +the letter, which he held open in his hand. + +"It is very strange," he muttered. + +"Not the least strange part of it is that I cannot ascertain who posted +it," said Mr. Brimsdown, glancing earnestly at the letter. "I asked +Thalassa, but he says he knows nothing about it." + +"Thalassa is probably lying to you as he has lied to me. One lie more or +less would not weigh on his conscience." + +"Why should he tell a lie over such a small thing as the posting of a +letter?" + +Barrant did not reply. He was apparently absorbed in examining the +postmarks on the envelope. "Indistinguishable, of course," he muttered, +returning the letter to the envelope. "Had Robert Turold any enemies?" he +asked. + +"I never heard him speak of any." + +"How did he come by his money?" asked Barrant, struck by a sudden thought. +"His sister tells me that he made his money abroad." + +"That I cannot tell you." + +"But you invested his fortune for him, did you not?" + +"I did," the lawyer agreed. + +"In what circumstances?" + +"It is rather a strange story," replied Mr. Brimsdown slowly. + +"I should like to hear it then. It may throw some light on this letter." + +"Let us go into the other room." + +Mr. Brimsdown made this suggestion with a quick glance at his departed +client on the bed, as though he feared some sardonic reproof from those +grey immobile lips. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + + +Barrant had returned with a feeling of irritation against the mischances +of events which had brought an important piece of evidence to light after +his departure for London. He had chosen to commence inquiries into +Sisily's disappearance as soon as he had reached London instead of going +to Scotland Yard, where a guarded telegram from Inspector Dawfield awaited +him, and although he had hastened to obey the summons back to Cornwall as +soon as he received it, two valuable days had been lost. It was true that +in that time he had found traces of the girl which he believed would lead +to her early arrest, but the letter, with its implication that the dead +man was aware of his impending doom, was a highly significant clue, and +strengthened Barrant's original belief that the real mystery of Robert +Turold's death lay much deeper than the plausible surface of events +indicated. + +He sat now, with a kind of sombre thoughtfulness, listening to Mr. +Brimsdown's account of his first meeting with his dead client. That story +carried with it a suggestion of adventure and mystery, but it was +difficult to say whether those elements had anything to do with Robert +Turold's death, thirty years later. It brought up the image of a man, +rugged and dominant even in youth, winning his way into the heart of a +middle-aged lawyer by the story of his determination to possess an old +English title. Most men have the spirit of Romance hidden in them +somewhere, and chance or good luck had sent Robert Turold, on his return +to England, to the one solicitor in London to whom his story was likely to +make the strongest kind of appeal. The spirit of Romance in Mr. +Brimsdown's bosom was no shimmering thing of thistledown and fancy, but +took the concrete shape of the peerage law of England, out of which he had +fashioned an image of worship to the old nobility and the days of +chivalry. + +Barrant gathered so much from the lawyer's description of that first +meeting. And if Robert Turold had found in the solicitor the man he most +needed in his search for the missing title, it was equally clear that his +own great quality of rugged strength had exercised the most extraordinary +sway on the lawyer--a species of personal magnetism which had never lost +its original effect. It was not until the second or third meeting--Mr. +Brimsdown was not quite sure which--that the question of money was +introduced. The lawyer had pointed out to his client that the search for +the title was likely to be prolonged and expensive, and Robert Turold had +indifferently assured him that he had money at his command for that +purpose lying on deposit at a London bank. The amount, when he did mention +it, was much greater than Mr. Brimsdown imagined--nearly £50,000 in fact. +It was at Robert Turold's suggestion that Mr. Brimsdown undertook to +invest the sum at better rates of interest, and thus, before a year had +passed, the whole of Robert Turold's business affairs were in the hands of +the solicitor. + +On one point Mr. Brimsdown was clear. He had never heard from Robert +Turold how he first came into possession of this large sum of money, and +his client had never encouraged inquiry on the subject. Mr. Brimsdown had +once ventured to ask him how he had made his fortune, and Robert Turold, +with a freezing look, had replied that he had made it abroad. Mr. +Brimsdown had never again referred to the subject, deeming it no business +of his. + +Barrant, listening to this with the air of a man who was not to be +deceived, could not see that the narration threw any illumination on the +letter or the other circumstances of Robert Turold's death. It seemed too +far-fetched to suppose there was any connection between the fortune which +Robert Turold had brought from abroad thirty years before and the letter +he had sent to his solicitor on the night of his death. The idea did +indeed cross his mind that some iniquity in that money-getting may have +been responsible for a belated revenge, but he dismissed that thought as +too wide for the scope of his inquiry. Abroad! That was a vague word, and +thirty years was a long while back. + +As he contemplated the manifold perplexities of the case, Barrant tried to +shut out the more sinister inference of the letter by asking himself, if +after all, the postscript was not capable of some entirely innocent +interpretation. But his conscientious mind refused to permit him to evade +responsibility in that way. The letter could not be dismissed with a wave +of one's wishing wand. It remained stubbornly in Barrant's perspective, an +unexplained factor which could be neither overlooked nor ignored. + +These thoughts ran through his mind as Mr. Brimsdown talked of his dead +client. At the same time, the detective's attitude towards the lawyer +underwent a considerable change. His professional caution, amounting +almost to suspicion, became modified by the more perceptive point of view +that as the dead man had turned to Mr. Brimsdown for assistance, it would +be better for him to trust the lawyer also--to look upon him as an ally, +and make common cause with him in the search for Robert Turold's murderer. + +This changed attitude, carrying with it a seeming friendliness, the +establishment, as it were, of an understanding between them, was not lost +upon Mr. Brimsdown. But it had its awkward side for him, by giving added +weight to the responsibility of deciding whether he should reveal or +withhold his chance encounter with Sisily at Paddington. Till then, Mr. +Brimsdown had been unable to make up his mind about that. There were some +nice points involved in the decision. In an effort to reach a solution he +broached the subject. + +"Is it still your opinion that Miss Turold is guilty--after this letter?" +he asked. + +"Her disappearance lays upon her the obligation of explaining her secret +visit to her father on the night of the murder," was the guarded reply. + +"Then you intend to arrest her?" + +"Yes." + +"Do you know where she is?" + +A quick consideration of this question led Barrant to the conclusion that +it would do no harm to let the lawyer know the scanty truth. + +"She is in London. I have traced her to Paddington." + +Mr. Brimsdown decided that, as the detective knew that much, it absolved +him from any obligation to betray the daughter of his dead client. His +feeling of relief unsealed his lips, and led him into an indiscretion. + +"It seems incredible that she can be guilty." As he spoke the memory of +Sisily's tender and wistful face, as he had seen it that night, came back +to him. + +"She had some justification, you know, if she was listening at the door +that afternoon," replied Barrant thoughtfully. + +"It is hardly possible that she could have inflicted those marks on the +arm," Mr. Brimsdown said. + +"How did you learn of them?" asked the detective quickly, in a changed +tone. + +Too late Mr. Brimsdown realized that in contrast to his silence with +Charles Turold, he had now gone to the other extreme and said too much. He +hesitated, but his hesitation was useless before the swiftness of +Barrant's deduction. + +"Was Charles Turold showing you the marks when I found you in the other +room?" he asked with a keen glance. + +Mr. Brimsdown's admission of that fact was coupled with an assurance that +the young man had shown him the marks because he was convinced of Sisily's +innocence. + +Barrant dismissed young Turold's opinions about the case with an impatient +shake of the head. "Who told him about the marks?" he said. + +It was the thought which had occurred to Mr. Brimsdown at the time, but he +did not say so then. "How did you discover them?" he asked. + +"When I was examining the body. But Charles Turold had no reason to +examine the body. Perhaps Dr. Ravenshaw told him. I must ask him." + +"It is a terrible and ghastly crime," said Mr. Brimsdown, in an effort to +turn the mind of his companion in another direction. "There is something +about it that I do not understand--some deep mystery which has not yet +been fathomed. Was it really his daughter? If so, how did she escape from +the room and leave the door locked inside? Escape from these windows is +plainly impossible." + +He crossed to the window, and stood for a moment looking down at a grey +sea tossing in futile restlessness. After an interval he said-- + +"Do you suspect Thalassa as well?" + +The detective looked at him with a cautious air: "Why do you ask that?" he +said, with some restraint in his tone. + +"It might account ... for certain things." + +Barrant shook his head in a way which was more noncommittal than negative. +He wanted to ascertain what the lawyer thought, but he was not prepared to +reveal all his own thoughts in return. + +"Do you think that Robert Turold invented this story about his marriage?" +he asked suddenly. + +"For what purpose?" + +"He did not want his daughter to succeed him in the title. His +announcement about the previous marriage strikes me as just a little too +opportune. Where are the proofs?" + +"You would not talk like that if you had known Robert Turold," said the +lawyer, turning away from the window. "He was too anxious to gain the +title to jeopardize the succession by concocting a story of a false +marriage. He had proofs--I have not the slightest doubt of that. I believe +he had them in the house when he made his statement to the family." + +"Then where are they now?" + +"They may have been stolen." + +"For what reason?" + +"By some one interested." + +"The person most interested is Robert Turold's daughter," said Barrant +thoughtfully. "That supposition fits in with the theory of her guilt. +Robert Turold is supposed to have kept valuable papers in that old clock +on the wall, which was found on the floor that night. Apparently he +staggered to it during his dying moments and pulled it down on top of him. +For what purpose? His daughter may have guessed that the proofs of her +illegitimacy were kept there, and tried to get them. Her father sought to +stop her, and she shot him." + +"That theory does not account for the marks on the arm," said the lawyer. + +"It does, because it is based on the belief that there was somebody else +in the room at the time, or immediately afterwards." + +"Thalassa?" + +"Yes--Thalassa. He knows more about the events of this night than he will +admit, but I shall have him yet." + +"But the theory does not explain the letter," persisted the lawyer with an +earnest look. "Robert Turold could not possibly have had any premonition +that his daughter intended to murder him, and even if he had, it would not +have led him to write that letter with its strange postscript, which +suggests that he had a sudden realization of some deep and terrible danger +in the very act of writing it. And if Thalassa was implicated, was he +likely to go to such trouble to establish a theory of suicide, and then +post a letter to me which destroyed that theory?" + +"We do not know that Thalassa posted the letter--it may have been Robert +Turold himself. As for premonitions--" Barrant checked himself as if +struck by a sudden thought, stood up, and walked across the room to where +the broken hood clock had been replaced on its bracket. He stood there +regarding it, and the round eyes in the moon's face seemed to return his +glance with a heavy stare. + +"If that fat face in the clock could only speak as well as goggle its +eyes!" he said, with a mirthless smile. "We should learn something then. +What's the idea of it all--the rolling eyes, the moon, the stars, and a +verse as lugubrious as a Presbyterian sermon on infant damnation. The +whole thing is uncanny." + +"It's a common enough device in old clocks," said the lawyer, joining him. +"It is commoner, however, in long-cased clocks--the so-called grandfather +clock. I have seen all sorts of moving figures and mechanisms in +long-cased clocks in old English country houses. A heaving ship was a very +familiar device, the movement being caused, as in this clock, by a wire +from the pendulum. I have never seen a specimen with the rotating +moon-dial before, though they were common enough in some parts of England +at one time. This is a Dutch clock, and the earlier Dutch makers were +always fond of representing their moons as human faces. It was made by a +great master of his craft, as famous in his native land as old Dan Quare +is in England, and its mechanism has outlived its creator by more than +three hundred years." + +"Would it be an accurate timekeeper, do you think?" asked Barrant, looking +mistrustfully at the motionless face of the moon, as though he suspected +it of covertly sneering at him. + +"I should think so. These old clockmakers made their clocks to keep +perfect time, and outlast Time himself! And this clock is a perfect +specimen of the hood clock, which marked a period in clock-making between +the old weight clocks and the long cases. Hood clocks were popular in +their day in Holland, but they have always been rare in this country. It +would be interesting to trace how this one came into this house. No doubt +it was taken from a wreck, like so much of the furniture in old Cornish +houses." + +"You seem to know a lot about old clocks." + +Mr. Brimsdown, astride his favourite hobby, rode it irresistibly. He +discoursed of clocks and their makers, and Barrant listened in silence. +The subject was not without its fascination for him, because it suggested +a strange train of thought about the hood clock which was the text, as it +were, of the lawyer's discourse. He looked up. Mr. Brimsdown, in front of +the clock, was discoursing about dials and pendulums. Barrant broke in +abruptly with the question on his mind-- + +"Can you, with your knowledge of old clocks, suggest any reason which +would cause Robert Turold to go to it? Are the works intricate? Would such +a clock require much adjustment?" + +"Robert Turold was not likely to think of adjusting a clock in his dying +moments," returned Mr. Brimsdown, with a glance which betokened that he +perfectly understood his companion had some other reason for his question. + +"There's a smear of blood on the dial," said Barrant, staring at it. + +"Was that made by the right or left hand?" + +"The right hand was resting on the clock-face. Why do you ask?" + +Mr. Brimsdown hesitated, then said: "The thought has occurred to me that +Robert Turold may have gone to the clock for a different purpose--not for +papers. Perhaps his last thought was to indicate the name of the murderer +on the white face of the clock." + +"In his blood? Rather a melodramatic idea, that! He had writing materials +before him if he wanted to do that, if he thought of it. He was shot down +in the act of writing, remember." + +A silence fell between them on this declaration--a silence terminated by +Barrant remarking that it was really late, and he must be getting back to +Penzance. Mr. Brimsdown made no suggestion to accompany him. Instead he +rustled papers in Robert Turold's cabinet as though to convey the +impression that the sorting and searching of them would take him some +time. Barrant, from whose eyes speculation and suspicion looked out from a +depth, like the remote glance of a spider which had scurried to a hole, +gave a slight sign of farewell, and wheeled out of the apartment without +another word. + +Downstairs he went, plunged in the deepest thought. Looking downward, he +saw Thalassa escorting Dr. Ravenshaw to the front door. The doctor's voice +reached him. + +"... She must not be left alone on any account--understand that. You ought +to get somebody to look after her." + +"I can't afford nobody," Thalassa made reply. + +Dr. Ravenshaw was about to say something more, but the figure of the +descending detective caught his eye. Barrant made a detaining gesture, and +the doctor waited in the passage for him. Barrant, with a slight glance at +the motionless figure of Thalassa, led the way into the front room. He +closed the door before he spoke. + +"Doctor," he said, "have you told anybody about those marks on Robert +Turold's arm?" + +"I have not," said the doctor promptly, looking up. "Why do you ask?" + +His glance carried conviction, and interrogation also. But it was +Barrant's province to ask questions, not to answer them. He ignored Dr. +Ravenshaw's. + +"There's another matter, doctor," he continued. "One of the coast +fishermen has a story that when Robert Turold was out on the moors he used +to hasten home with great strides, like a man who feared pursuit. Did you +ever observe this peculiarity in him?" + +"I have observed that he used to walk at a quick pace." + +"This was more than a quick pace--it was almost a run, according to the +fisherman--looking backward over his shoulder as he went." + +"I did not notice that, but I should not be surprised if it were true, +with a man of Robert Turold's temperament." + +"He feared pursuit--some unknown danger, then?" + +"I cannot say. He may have suffered from agoraphobia." + +"What is that?" asked Barrant. + +"The dread of open spaces." + +"I have heard of claustrophobia--the dread of closed spaces--but not of +this." + +"It is common enough--an absurd but insurmountable aversion to open +spaces. The victims are oppressed by a terrible anxiety when crossing a +field. I have known a man who would be terrified at the idea of crossing +Trafalgar Square." + +"What is the cause of agoraphobia?" asked Barrant. + +"It is a nervous disorder--one of the symptoms of advanced neurasthenia." + +"Did Robert Turold suffer from neurasthenia?" + +"His nervous system was in a state of irritable weakness through the +monomania of a fixed idea," was the reply--"too much seclusion and +concentration on one object, to the exclusion of all other human +interests." + +"How's your patient?" said Barrant, giving the conversation an abrupt +turn. + +"What patient do you mean--Mrs. Thalassa?" asked Dr. Ravenshaw in some +surprise. + +"Yes. I gathered from what I overheard you say to Thalassa that you have +been attending her." + +"I have been attending her since Mr. Turold's death." + +"She is in a strange condition," observed Barrant reflectively. "I was +questioning her the other night, but I could get nothing out of her. She +seems almost imbecile." + +"She is not a woman of strong mind, and she is now suffering from a severe +shock. She should be looked after or taken away from here altogether, but +her husband seems quite indifferent." + +"Do you think she will recover?" + +"It is impossible to say." + +"How do you think the shock was caused?" + +"I should not like to hazard an opinion on that point, either," replied +Dr. Ravenshaw gravely. He glanced at his watch as he spoke. "I must be +going," he said. + +They left the house together, but branched off at the gate--Dr. Ravenshaw +to visit a fisherman's dying wife, and Barrant to seek the _Three Jolly +Wreckers_ for supper before returning to Penzance. + +From the kitchen window Thalassa watched them go: the doctor walking +across the cliffs with resolute stride, the detective making for the path +over the moors with bent head and slower step, as though his feet were +clogged by the weight of his thoughts. Thalassa watched their dwindling +forms until they disappeared, and then stood still, in a listening +attitude. The sound of the lawyer stirring in the study overhead seemed to +rouse him from his immobility. He closed the door, and stood looking up +the staircase with the shadow of indecision on his face. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + + +Upstairs Mr. Brimsdown made unavailing search among Robert Turold's papers +for proofs of his statement about his marriage. The lawyer believed that +they existed, and his failure to find them brought with it a belated +realization of the fact that he, too, had been cherishing hopes of +Sisily's innocence. It was the memory of her face which had inspired that +secret hope. That was not sentiment (so Mr. Brimsdown thought), but the +worldly wisdom of a man whose profession had trained him to read the human +face. Sisily's face, as he recalled it now, had looked sad and a little +fearful that night at Paddington, but there was nothing furtive or tainted +in her clear glance. He felt that a judge would look with marked attention +at such a face in the dock. Judges, like lawyers, and all whose business +it is to trip their kind into the gins of the law, scan faces as closely +as evidence in the effort to read the stories written there. + +But the disappearance of certain papers which had probably been abstracted +from that room weighed more in the scale of suspicion against Sisily than +her look of innocence. She stood to gain most by the suppression or +destruction of the proofs of her mother's earlier marriage. But Mr. +Brimsdown could not see that this rather negative inference against the +girl brought the actual solution of the mystery any nearer. It did nothing +to explain, for instance, the marks on the dead man's arm and his +posthumous letter. The letter! What was the explanation of the letter? Was +it not an argument of equal weight for Sisily's innocence, suggesting the +existence of some hidden avenging figure glimpsed by Robert Turold in time +to give him warning of his death, but not in time to enable him to avert +it? + +There were other things too. What was the meaning of that sly and stealthy +shake of the head which Austin Turold had given his son that afternoon. A +warning obviously--but a warning for what purpose? Mr. Brimsdown could not +guess, but his contemplation of the incident brought before him the image +of the restless and unhappy young man, as he stood by the bedside in the +next room, pointing to the marks on the dead man's arm. Even in his +vehement assertions of Sisily's innocence Mr. Brimsdown had conceived the +impression that he was keeping something back. What did Charles Turold +know? Did his father share his secret knowledge? Mr. Brimsdown could not +answer these questions, and he was greatly perturbed at the way in which +they brought a host of other thoughts and doubts in their train. He +reflected that the Turolds, father and son, were after all the greatest +gainers by their relative's death. The father came into immediate +possession of a large and unexpected fortune which he would bequeath to +his son. And Austin Turold was not anxious apparently to proceed with his +brother's claim for the title. + +These were facts which could not be gainsaid, but where did they lead? The +trouble was that no conceivable theory covered the facts of the case, so +far as they were known. So far as they were known! That was the +difficulty. Any line of thought stopped short of the real solution, +because the facts themselves were inconclusive. There was much that was +still concealed--Mr. Brimsdown felt sure of that. + +As he applied his mind to the problem, the definite impression came back +to him, and this time with renewed force, that the mystery surrounding +Robert Turold's death was something which might not bear the light of day. +He set his lips firmly as he considered that possibility. If that proved +to be the case it would be his duty to cover it up again. He was an adept +at such work, as many of his clients, alive and dead, could have +approvingly testified. He had spent much time in safeguarding family +secrets. Several old families had found him their rock of refuge in +distress. If he had been a man of the people, baby lips might have been +taught to call down Heaven's blessings on his discreet efforts. Those +members of the secluded domain of high respectability for whom he strived +showed their gratitude in a less emotional but more substantial +way--generally in the mellow atmosphere of after-dinner conferences ... +"You had better see my man, Brimsdown. I'll give you a note to him. He'll +square this business for you. Safe? None safer." + +Mr. Brimsdown did not accept the axiom of a great English jurist that +every man is justified in evading the law if he can, because it is the +duty of lawmakers not to leave any loophole for evasion. That point of +view of justice as a battle of wits, with victory to the sharpest, was a +little too cynical for his acceptance. But he believed it to be his duty +to safeguard the interests of his client. Robert Turold was dead, and no +longer able to protect his own name. It might be that the facts of his +death involved some scandalous secret of the dead man's which was better +undivulged, and if so it would remain undivulged, could Mr. Brimsdown +contrive it. For the time being he would pursue his investigations and +keep his own counsel. + +The sound of an opening door and a shadow athwart the threshold disturbed +his meditations. He looked up, and was confronted by the spectacle of +Thalassa advancing into the room with his eyes fixed upon him. + +"Well, Thalassa," he said, "what do you want?" + +"To ask you something," was the response. "It's this. It's every man for +himself--now that he's gone." + +He jerked his thumb in the direction of the next room. "He took this house +for twelve months, and so it'll have to be paid for. Can I stop here for a +bit? I suppose it's in your hands to say yes or no." + +His face was hard and expressionless as ever, but there was a new note in +his voice which struck the lawyer's keen ear--an accent of supplication. +He looked at Thalassa thoughtfully. + +"You wish to stay on here until you have made other arrangements for your +future--is that so?" he asked. + +"That's it," was the brief reply. + +Mr. Brimsdown felt there was more than that--some deeper, secret reason. +Before granting the request it occurred to him to try and get what he +could in exchange. Self-interest is the strongest of human motives, and +men wanting favours are in a mood to yield something in return. + +"Well, Thalassa," he said, amiably enough, but watching him with the eye +of a hawk, "I do not think your request is altogether unreasonable--in the +circumstances. I dare say it could be arranged. I'll try to do so, but I +should like you to answer me one or two questions first." + +"What do you want to know?" + +"Was your master's daughter here--in the house, I mean--on the night of +his death?" + +Thalassa's face hardened. "You, too?" he said simply. "I say again, as I +said before, that she was not." + +"You said so," rejoined Mr. Brimsdown softly. "The question is--are you +telling the truth? If you know anything of the events of that night you +may be injuring Miss Turold by your silence." + +For a moment Mr. Brimsdown thought his appeal was going to succeed. He +could have sworn that a flicker of hesitation--of irresolution--crossed +the old man's stern countenance. But the mood passed immediately, and it +was in an indifferent voice that Thalassa, turning to go, replied-- + +"If that's what you're reckoning on, I'd better go and pack my traps." + +"Oh, I don't make that a condition," replied the lawyer, acknowledging his +defeat in a sporting spirit. "You can remain here and look after the house +until you decide what to do. As Robert Turold's old servant you are +entitled to consideration. I will help you afterwards, if you will let me +know your plans. I am sure that would have been your late master's wish." + +"I want nothing from _him_," Thalassa rejoined, "a damned black +scoundrel." + +Mr. Brimsdown was shocked at this savage outburst, but there was something +so implacable in the old man's air that the rebuke he wished to utter died +unspoken. Thalassa regarded him for a moment in silence, and then went +on-- + +"Thank'ee for letting me stop on here a bit. Now I'll tell you +something--about him." Again his thumb indicated the next room. "It was +the night after." + +"Do you mean the night after he met his death?" + +"Yes. Some one was upstairs in his room--in this room." + +Mr. Brimsdown gave a startled glance around him, as though seeking a +lurking form in the shadows. "Here?" he breathed. + +"Here, sure enough. I woke up in my bed downstairs, staring wide awake, as +though somebody had touched me on the shoulder. I was just turning over to +go to sleep again, when I heered a noise up here." + +"What sort of a noise?" + +"Like the rustling of paper. I listened for a bit, then it stopped. I +heard a board creak in the next room, where we'd carried him. Then the +rustling started in the other room again, right over my head. The dog +downstairs started to bark. I got up, and went upstairs as quickly as I +could, but there was nobody--except _him_. The dog frightened whoever +it was, I suppose. Next morning I found the front room window wide open." + +"Were there any footprints outside the window?" + +"A man doesn't leave footprints on rocks." + +"What time was it?" + +"It would be about midnight, I reckon." + +"Did your wife hear the noise?" + +"No. She was in bed and asleep." + +"Are you sure you didn't dream this?" Mr. Brimsdown asked, with a shrewd +penetrating glance. + +"The open window wasn't a dream," was the dogged reply. + +"You might have left it open yourself." + +"No, I didn't. I close the windows every night before dark." + +"And lock them?" + +"Not always." + +The incident did not sound convincing to Mr. Brimsdown, but his face did +not reveal his scepticism as he thanked Thalassa for the information. +Thalassa lingered, as if he had something still on his mind. He brought it +out abruptly-- + +"Has anything been seen of Miss Sisily?" + +"Nothing whatever, Thalassa." + +On that he turned away, and went out of the room, leaving the lawyer +pondering over his story of a midnight intruder. Mr. Brimsdown came to the +conclusion that it was probably imagination, and so dismissed it from his +mind. + +He resumed his work of working over the papers, but after a few minutes +discontinued his search, and walked restlessly about the room. The air +seemed to have the taint of death in it, and he crossed over to one of the +windows and flung it up. + +The window looked out on the sea, though far above it, but the slope of +the house embraced in the view a portion of the cliffs at the side. As Mr. +Brimsdown stood so, breathing the sea air and looking around him, he +espied a woman, closely veiled, walking rapidly across the cliffs in the +direction of the house. + +She vanished from the range of his vision almost immediately, but a few +minutes later he heard footsteps and an opening door. He was again +confronted by the presence of Thalassa on the threshold. But this time +Thalassa did not linger. "Somebody to see you," he announced with gruff +brevity, and turned away. + +The open door now revealed the figure of the woman he had seen outside. +She advanced into the room. + +"Mr. Brimsdown?" she said. + +"That is my name," said the lawyer, eyeing her in some surprise. He +recognized her as the woman who had stared after him when he left Austin +Turold's lodgings, but he could not conjecture the object of her visit. + +"I see you do not remember me," she sadly remarked. + +"You are Mrs. Brierly, I think." + +"Yes. But I was Mary Pleasington before I was married. I remember you very +well, but I suppose that I have changed." + +Mr. Brimsdown recalled the name with a start of surprise. He found it +difficult to recognize, in the faded woman before him, the pretty daughter +of his old client, Sir Roger Pleasington, whose debts and lawsuits had +been compounded by death ten years before. He remembered his daughter as a +budding beauty, with the airs and graces of a pretty girl who imagines her +existence to be of some importance in the world. He recollected that her +marriage to an impecunious young artist had caused some sensation in +Society at the time. Marriage had dealt hardly with her, and no trace of +her beauty or vivacity remained. + +"You are the late Mr. Turold's legal adviser?" she continued, after a +pause. + +Mr. Brimsdown, always chary of unnecessary words, replied with a slight +bow. + +"I suppose you have come to Cornwall to investigate the cause of his +death?" + +Mr. Brimsdown remained silent, waiting to hear more. + +"I--I wish to speak to you about that." Her lips quivered with some inward +agitation. + +"Will you not be seated?" he said, placing a chair for her. + +"Will you regard what I have to say to you in strict confidence?" she +queried, sinking her voice to a whisper. + +"Is it about Mr. Turold's murder?" + +"It--it may be." + +With the recollection of previous eavesdropping in that house, the lawyer +rose and closed the door. "I cannot make a promise of that kind," he said +firmly, as he returned to his seat. + +"No, no--of course not," she hurriedly acquiesced. "I was wrong to ask it. +I have come here to tell you. When I saw you this afternoon I realized +that Providence had answered my prayers, and sent somebody in whom I could +safely confide. I will tell you everything. I have come here for that +purpose." + +She seemed to have a difficulty in commencing. Her pale grey eyes wandered +irresolutely from his, and then returned. It was with a perceptible effort +that she spoke at last. + +"What I am about to tell you I have known for some days, but I could not +bring myself to the extreme step of going to the police. Sometimes I am +inclined to think that it may be only a trifling thing, easily explained, +and of no importance. But sometimes--at night--it assumes a terrible +significance. I need counsel--wise counsel--about it." + +She paused and looked at him wistfully. As though interpreting his nod as +encouragement, she went on--. + +"Mr. Austin Turold and his son have been inmates of my household for the +last six weeks. Mr. Robert Turold arranged it with me beforehand. I had +never done anything of the kind before, but our means--my husband's and +mine--are insufficient for the stress of these times. After all, people +must live." + +Mr. Brimsdown's slight shake of the head seemed to imply that this last +statement was by no means an incontrovertible proposition, but Mrs. +Brierly was not looking at him. + +"Therefore, to oblige Mr. Turold we decided to afford hospitality to his +brother and son. The terms were favourable, and they were gentlefolk. +These things counted, and the money helped. But if I had only known--if I +could have foreseen ..." + +"Mr. Turold's death?" said Mr. Brimsdown, filling in the pause. + +"I mean--everything," she retorted a little wildly. "My name is well +known. I was in Society once. There is my husband's reputation as an +artist to be considered. I would not be talked about for worlds. I acted +against my husband's advice in this matter--in taking Mr. Turold and his +son. My husband said it was a degradation to take in lodgers. I pointed +out that they were gentlefolk. There is a difference. I wish now that I +had listened to my husband's advice." + +Mr. Brimsdown listened with patient immobility. His long experience of +female witnesses withheld him from any effort to hasten the flow of his +companion's story. + +"They were very nice and quiet--particularly Mr. Austin Turold," she went +on. "The son was more silent and reserved, but we saw very little of +him--he was out so much. But Mr. Turold did my husband good--his breeding +and conversation were just what he needed to lift him out of himself. A +man goes to seed in the country, Mr. Brimsdown, no matter how intellectual +he may be. Nature is delightful, but a man needs to be near Piccadilly to +keep smart. Cornwall is so very far away--so remote--and Cornish rocks are +dreadfully severe on good clothes. I am not complaining, you understand. +We had to come to Cornwall. It was inevitable--for us. No English artist +is considered anything until he has painted a picture of the Land's End or +Newquay. The Channel Islands--or Devon--is not quite the same thing. Not +such a distinctive hallmark. So we came to Cornwall, and my husband went +to seed. That was why I welcomed Mr. Turold's conversation for him. It did +him good. My husband said so himself. He derived inspiration--artistic +inspiration--from Mr. Turold's talk. He conceived a picture--'Land of Hope +and Glory' it was to be called--of a massive figure of Britannia, standing +on Land's End, defying the twin demons of Bolshevism and Labour Unrest +with a trident. He was working at it with extraordinary rapidity--when +this happened. + +"On the day of his brother's death we did not see much of Mr. Austin +Turold. There was Mrs. Turold's funeral in the afternoon, and when he came +home I thought he would prefer to be left to himself. + +"He went to his sitting-room, and stayed there. My husband and I retired +early that night, but later we were awakened by a very loud knock at the +front door. We heard Mr. Austin Turold, who was still up, go down and open +it. Then we heard a very loud voice, outside--Mr. Robert Turold's +man-servant, it appears. We heard him tell Mr. Austin that his brother had +been found shot. Mr. Turold returned upstairs, and some time afterwards we +heard him go down again and out. + +"I was so upset that I arose and dressed myself to await Mr. Turold's +return. I thought he might like a cup of coffee when he returned, so I +decided to go downstairs myself and prepare it. As I passed the passage +which led to Mr. Charles Turold's room, I noticed a light underneath his +door. I rather wondered, as he was still up, why he had not gone with his +father, but I was passing on without thinking any more about it when I +happened to notice that the light beneath the door was fluctuating in the +strangest way. First it was very bright, then it became quite dim, but the +next moment it would be bright again. + +"That alarmed me so much that I walked along the passage to see what it +meant. I thought perhaps the young man had fallen asleep with the window +open and left the gas flaring in the wind. I stood for a moment outside +the door wondering what I ought to do. Then I heard a crackling sound, and +smelt something burning. That alarmed me still more, because I knew no +fire had been lit in the room that day. I wondered if the bedroom was on +fire, and I knelt down and tried to see through the keyhole. + +"At first I could see nothing except a bright light and the shadow of a +form on the wall. Then I made out the form of Charles Turold, standing in +his dressing-gown in front of the fireplace, in which a fire of kindling +wood was leaping and blazing. I could not make out at first what he was +doing. He seemed to be stooping over the fire, moving something about. +Then I saw. He was drying his clothes--the suit he had worn that day. They +must have been very wet, for the steam was rising from them. + +"I must have made a noise which startled him, for I saw him turn quickly +and stare at the closed door, then walk towards it. I went away as quickly +and noiselessly as I could, and as I turned the corner of the passage, out +of sight, his door opened, and then closed again. He had looked out and, +seeing nobody, gone back into his room. + +"I went downstairs to make the coffee and wait for Mr. Turold. I had to +wait some time. When I did hear the sound of his key in the door, I went +up the hall with a cup of coffee in my hand. Mr. Turold seemed surprised +to see me. He looked at me in a questioning sort of way as he took the +coffee, and stood there sipping it. As he handed me back the cup he told +me in a low voice that his brother was dead. I said that was why I had +waited up--because I had heard the knock and the dreadful news. Mr. +Turold, in the same low voice, then said he was very much afraid his +brother had taken his own life. + +"He then went upstairs. I again retired shortly afterwards, but I could +not sleep. I was too upset--too nervous. I could not get Mr. Robert +Turold's suicide out of my head. It seemed such a dreadful thing for a +wealthy man to do--so common and vulgar! Suicide sticks to a family so--it +is never really forgotten. It is much easier to live down an embezzlement +or misappropriation of trust funds. The thought of it put the other +thing--the fire and young Mr. Turold and his wet clothes--out of my head +completely, for the time. + +"As I was lying there tossing and thinking I heard a light footstep pass +my door. I slipped out of bed, and opening the door a little, looked out. +I saw Mr. Turold, fully dressed, a light in his hand, turning down the +passage which led to his son's room. Then I heard the sound of a creaking +door, the murmur of a low conversation, cut short by the shutting of the +door. I stood there for a few minutes, and then went back to my bed and +fell asleep. + +"The next day it all came back to me. I had gone into Charles Turold's +room for some reason when he was out, and there, on the hearth, I could +see the remains of the fire he had lit overnight to dry his clothes. He +had made some clumsy man-like attempt to clean up the grate, but he left +some ends of the charred kindling wood lying about." + +This final revelation brought a silence between Mrs. Brierly and the +lawyer; a silence broken only by the distant deep call of the sea beneath +the open window. The silence lengthened into minutes before Mr. Brimsdown +found his voice. + +"You have said nothing to anybody else about this?" He spoke almost +abstractedly, but she chose to regard this question in the light of a +reproach. She hurriedly rejoined-- + +"I did not see the necessity--then. If young Mr. Turold got caught in the +storm, and chose to dry his clothes in his room, instead of putting them +out for the maid, why should I tell anybody? I did not connect it with his +uncle's death. I was under the impression that Mr. Robert Turold had taken +his own life. It was not until the detective called to see Mr. Austin +Turold that I learnt there was a suspicion of--murder. My maid overheard +the detective say something while she was in and out of the room serving +tea, and she told me what she had heard. I saw things in a new light then, +and I was terribly upset. But I could not see my way clear until you came +to the house to-day. Then I decided to tell you." + +"Can you tell me what time Charles Turold came in that night?" + +"I have no idea. He and his father have separate keys of the front door." + +It was evident that she had told all she knew. She rose to her feet in +agitation. + +"I must go. My husband will be wondering where I am. But tell me, Mr. +Brimsdown, do you imagine ... Is it possible ..." Her voice dropped to the +ghost of a frightened whisper. + +He evaded this issue with legal caution. + +"You have done quite right in coming to me," he replied, as he opened the +door for her departure. He held out his hand. + +She touched it with trembling fingers, and went away. + +Mr. Brimsdown closed the door behind her, and wearily sat down. He had +been prepared to do much to shield the name of Turold, but he had not +bargained for this. He did not doubt the truth of the story he had just +heard, and it gave him a feeling of nausea. What a revelation of the +infamy of human nature! The stupendous depth of such villainy overwhelmed +him with dismay. The extent of the criminal understanding between father +and son he did not attempt to fathom. His mind was filled with the +monstrous audacity by which Charles Turold, apparently at the dictate of +remorse, had sought to convince him of Sisily's innocence by directing +attention to the marks on the dead man's arm which he had probably made +himself. Could human cynicism go farther than that? A great wave of pity +swept over the lawyer as he thought of the unhappy Sisily, and all that +she had been compelled to endure. But why had she fled? + +Long he sat there without stirring, until the shadows deepened and the +grey surface of the sea dissolved in blackness. + +"The police must be told of this," he said at last, in an almost voiceless +whisper. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + + +"And suppose the police call during your absence?" said Austin Turold, +glancing sharply at his son. + +"Then you had better tell the truth. I am tired of it all." + +"I might ask, with Pilate, What is truth?--in your case." + +"You know it already, father, whether you believe me or not." + +Austin Turold looked strangely at him--a look in which anger was mingled +with something deeper and more searching, as though he sought to reach +some secret in the depth of his soul. Impatiently he crossed the room to +the fireplace, and stood with his back to the fire, facing his son. + +"I do not see that there's any more risk than there was before," said +Charles gloomily. + +"I say there is," returned his father sharply. "What! Do you suppose you +can go off to London like this, leaving me here alone, at such a moment? +Do you not see that your unexplained absence, in itself, is likely to +bring suspicion upon you, indeed, upon both of us?" + +"I cannot help that," returned the young man desperately. "I must go and +find Sisily." + +"You are not likely to find her. You do not even know that she has gone to +London." + +"Yes. I have found out that much. She took a ticket by the midday train on +the day after--it happened." + +"And why do you wish to find her?" + +"Because she is deeply wronged--she is innocent." + +"You should be able to speak with authority on that point," said Austin, +with a cold glance, which the other did not meet. "You are acting very +foolishly, rushing off to London on this quixotic mission. You won't find +her. Besides, no woman is worth what you are risking in this wild-goose +chase. You are jeopardizing your future by an act of the maddest folly." + +"There is nothing in life for me but the shadow of things--now," returned +the young man in low tones. "I want nothing except to find Sisily and +prove her innocence. I'm going to look for her, whatever you say." + +Austin Turold made an impatient gesture. + +"Very well," he said. "If Providence has made you a fool you must fulfil +Providence's decree. Only, I warn you, I think you are going the right way +to bring trouble on yourself. That lawyer who was here to-day--what's his +name, Brimstone, Brimsdown?--has his suspicions, unless I'm very much +mistaken." + +Charles turned pale. "What makes you think that?" he asked. + +"By the way he watched both of us." + +"That accounts for his attitude when I saw him afterwards," said Charles +in a startled voice. + +"Afterwards--where?" + +"I went after him to tell him that Sisily was innocent." + +"And what else did you tell him?" + +"Nothing but that--nothing that counted, at least." + +"Really, Charles, your lack of intelligence is a distinct reflection on me +as a parent. Fancy a son of mine trying to make a lawyer's bowels yearn +with compassion! I'm positively ashamed of you. Why are you so elementary? +The situation must have contained some elements of humour, though. I +should like to have witnessed it. Did you call down Heaven's vengeance on +the murderer in approved fashion? How did the man of parchments take it?" + +"You have no heart," said his son, flushing darkly under this sarcasm. He +walked towards the door as he spoke. "I am going," he said. "There is an +excursion train through to Paddington to-night, and I shall catch it." + +"You are determined on it, then?" + +"I should be in an unendurable position if I didn't," replied the young +man, and without another word he left the room. + +Austin looked after him a little wistfully, as though remembering that the +other was, after all, his son. He remained motionless for a moment, then +crossed over to the window and looked out. As he stood so his eye was +caught by two figures beneath. One was his son, walking down the garden +path. The other was Mrs. Brierly, returning to the house. She walked past +Charles with downcast eyes, but Austin from the window saw her turn and +cast a frightened fluttering glance at the young man's retreating figure. +She had seen him, then, but did not want to recognize him. As she hurried +up the garden path Austin caught a glimpse of her face, and observed that +it was white and drawn. + +"What's the matter with my estimable landlady?" he murmured as he withdrew +from the window. + +His quick intelligence, playing round this incident and seeking to pierce +its meaning, grew alarmed. There seemed to be a menace in it. Did she know +or guess something of the hidden events of that night, or had she played +the spy since? He turned pale as he considered these possibilities. Women +had an unerring instinct for a secret once their curiosity was aroused. +But he had been careful, very careful. What did she suspect? + +He thought over this problem until night fell, and retired to bed with it +still unanswered. + +But the solution flashed into his mind at breakfast next morning, +suddenly, like light in a dark place. He was amazed that he had not seen +it before. "If it is that ..." he whispered. But he knew it was that; knew +also, that it meant the worst. He got up from the table, then forced +himself to sit down again and eat. An untouched breakfast tray might +quicken the suspicions in the mind of that most treacherous woman +downstairs, might hasten her hand. But why had she delayed so long? + +He passed the morning between his chair and the window, watching, and +listening for footsteps. He saw Mrs. Brierly leave the house early, and +wondered if she would return with the police. Another reflection came to +his mind. Charles had some inkling, and had fled in time. Perhaps that was +just as well, if he got out of England. For himself there was no such +retreat, nor did he wish it. He would have to face things out, if they had +to be faced, and he did not yet despair of saving the situation, so far as +it affected himself. What did that diabolical female know, really? He had +a momentary vision of her stealing about the house, prying, watching, +listening. He sank into a motionless brooding reverie. + +The day passed its meridian, but he still sat there in solitude with his +anxious thoughts. As the afternoon declined his hopes rose. Could it be +that he was mistaken, that his fears were imaginary? Perhaps, after all-- + +At that sharp ring of the doorbell downstairs he walked noiselessly to the +window, and shrank back with the startled look of a man who has had his +first glimpse of the bared teeth of the law. He stood still, listening +intently. He heard the door opened, a sharp question, then the sound of +ascending footsteps. When the knock came at his own door he was in +complete command of himself as he went to open it. He was well aware of +the ordeal before him, but he did not show it. There was nothing but +ironical self-possession in the glance which took in the figures of +Detective Barrant and Inspector Dawfield, revealed on the threshold of the +opening door. + +Barrant lost no time in coming to the point. "I want to see your son," he +said, entering and glancing quickly round the apartment. + +"I am afraid that is impossible." + +"Why?" + +"He is not here." + +"Where is he?" + +"I think he has gone to London." + +Barrant was plainly taken aback at this unexpected piece of news. "When +did he go?" he demanded. + +"Yesterday evening." + +Barrant cast a look at Dawfield, which said plainly: "He's had word of +this and bolted." His glance returned to Austin. "Can you tell me where he +is staying in London?" + +"I have not the least idea," returned Austin negligently. + +"Does he not live with you?" + +"As a rule--yes." + +"What is your London address?" + +Austin took a card from his case and laid it on the table. Barrant picked +it up, glanced at it, and said: "Is your son likely to be there?" + +"He may be, but he said nothing to me about going there. He has his own +liberty of action, like every other young man of his age. May I ask the +reason of these questions, Detective Barrant?" + +Barrant did not choose to reply. He drew Inspector Dawfield to the doorway +and conferred with him in an undertone. Austin saw Barrant slip the card +into his colleague's hand, and Dawfield then hastened away. The inference +was plain. Dawfield had been sent off to intercept the flight or start the +pursuit. Austin found himself profoundly hoping that his son was by that +time out of England. + +He had not much leisure to think of that, for Barrant turned towards him +again with an annoyance that he did not attempt to dissemble. "Why has +your son gone to London--perhaps you can tell me that much?" he exclaimed. + +"I gathered from him that it is his intention to look for his cousin +Sisily." + +"For what purpose?" + +"Because he strongly believes in her innocence." + +"It is strange that he should have rushed off like this." + +"Without waiting for your visit, do you mean? Really, Detective Barrant, +may I constrain you to give me some explanation of all this? I want to +help you all I can, but your actions savour too much of a peremptory +jack-in-the-box, even in these bureaucratic days. What is the object of +this visit? Why did you want to see my son?" + +"I wished to interview him." + +"About what, may I ask?" + +Barrant did not immediately reply, but Austin, scanning him furtively, +sought to reach his thoughts by the varying shades of expression on his +face. It was the state of mind of a man who was at once chagrined, amazed, +suspicious, and wondering. The older man could picture Barrant thinking to +himself: "This man before me--how far is he involved in this?" And, +watching him mutely, Austin steeled himself for a sudden outburst: "You +picked up the key. You declared it was suicide. What does that mean--now?" + +But he under-estimated Barrant's intelligence. Barrant had no intention of +doing anything so crude. The situation was sufficiently awkward as it +stood without putting the father on his guard. Austin might guess that he +was under suspicion as well as his son, but that did not matter so much. +Barrant instinctively realized that flight was impossible for Austin +Turold, though he might seek to warn his son not to go near their London +home because the police were after him. But that was a warning which would +be useless, for the police were ahead of him there. Barrant reflected that +he gained nothing by not divulging the object of his visit when the +inference of it was so transparently palpable. The disclosure might even +serve a useful purpose by lessening Austin's apprehensions in his own +case. With this consideration in view he brought it out frankly-- + +"I wished to question your son about his movements on the night of the +murder." + +"Is my son suspected--now?" + +Barrant winced under the delicate inflection of irony which conveyed in +that brief reply the inference of another blunder in his own changing +suspicions. That sneer roused the official in him, and it was in a curt +tone of command that he said-- + +"What time did your son get home on the day of the murder?" + +"I am unable to say." + +"He did not return with you after the funeral?" + +"No, he did not." + +"Where did he go?" + +"These are strange questions, Detective Barrant. I really cannot tell you +that either, because I do not know." + +He put up his glasses to look at Barrant with an assumption of resentment, +but the detective's return glance was hard and searching. "Was your son in +to dinner that night?" he asked. + +"We have midday dinner, in this house." + +"Well, supper. Was he in to supper?" + +Austin reflected rapidly. He dared not refuse to answer the question, and +any attempt to mislead the questioner would only make things worse when +the two women in the house knew the truth. + +"Yes. He was in to supper." + +"And went out afterwards?" + +This was put more as a simple statement of fact than a question. Again, +Austin's subtle intelligence could see no better course than truth. + +"He did. My son frequently goes out walking of an evening after supper." + +"What time did he return--on this evening?" + +"I do not know." + +"Do you mean that?" Barrant's tone was incredulous. + +"I do." The impulse which had dictated his previous answer sprang from the +thought that the foolish females downstairs could not contradict it, and +he adhered calmly to the course now he was committed to it. + +"What time did Thalassa come for you from Flint House with the news that +your brother was dead?" + +"I do not know the exact time. He called at the police station first." + +"Had not your son returned by then?" + +"I am unable to inform you. He frequently goes straight to his room when +he returns from an evening walk." + +"Then you do not know whether he was in or out when you left the house?" + +"I assumed he was in, as it was after his usual time for returning." + +"You did not go to his room, to see?" + +"No. I did not wish to disturb him." + +Barrant looked as though there was only one possible construction to be +placed on these replies, but he still did not utter the question which +Austin feared and dreaded most. In a harsh peremptory voice he said--"Show +me your son's room." + +In those words he stood revealed as one with all the resources of the law +at his back, able to issue commands which other people must obey. The +rights of liberty and freedom were in his hands. It needed not that to +show Austin Turold how near he stood to the edge of the precipice. The +strain of the interview had told on him. This was the first actual buffet +of the beast's paw. He led the way to his son's room and watched Barrant +go through his intimate belongings with the feeling that intelligence was +a flimsy shield against the brutal force of authority. The law in search +of prey cared nothing for such civilized refinements as intellect or +self-respect. As well try to stop a tiger with a sonnet. + +The search revealed nothing, and Barrant went away without another word. A +moment later Austin heard him questioning the frightened women on the +floor beneath. Listening intently, he made out a fragment of the +conversation, sufficient to remove all doubts of the origin of the +detective's present visit. Austin's mind flew to the episode he had seen +from his window on the previous afternoon. Why in the name of heaven had +this Brierly woman been such a fool? Why had she not come to him with her +story, and asked for money to shut her mouth? Why was she sobbing and +snivelling downstairs now, when it was too late? + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + + +Austin Turold was wrong in supposing that his son had left Cornwall to fly +from England. Charles had stated his intention truly enough when he said +he was going to London to look for Sisily, but he did not disclose to his +father the real reason that led him there. + +His visit to London was the pursuit of a definite plan. He was animated by +the hope that he knew where Sisily was likely to have sought shelter. Ever +since her disappearance this idea had lurked in his imagination and +occupied his secret thoughts. + +It was the fruit of one of their last talks together--a memory they shared +in common. How well he remembered the occasion! They had been on the +cliffs looking down at the Gurnard's Head wallowing like a monster with a +broken back in the foam of a raging sea. It was the day after the death of +Sisily's mother, and Sisily had clung to him as if he were the only friend +she had in the world. She had spoken to him from the depth of an +overburdened soul impelled to confide in another, telling him of her +mother's sad life, unintentionally revealing something of the unhappiness +of her own. And she told him a strange thing about her mother's last +hours. + +On her death-bed the unhappy woman must have had her fears concerning the +future of her daughter--belated uneasy premonitions arising after her +dying confession to the man supposed to be her husband, perhaps causing +her to doubt the wisdom of that revelation. That seemed plain enough to +Charles afterwards, though not apparent at the time Sisily had confided in +him, for she had died without giving the girl the slightest indication of +her life's secret, as if in some inscrutable hope that the tangle might be +made straight. + +What she did do was to make a feeble effort to save her daughter from the +consequences of her own unhappy act, or at least to help her if those +results arose. She had whispered a name, the name of an old friend of her +girlhood who would befriend her child if ever she needed help. At her +urgent request Sisily had propped her up in bed while she wrote down the +address. Having performed this feat with infinite labour, she dropped back +on her pillow, clinging fast to the hand of the child she loved and whose +future she had blasted at the command of conscience. + +Charles recalled how Sisily had taken that pathetic little scrap of paper +from her blouse, kissed it with quivering lips, and handed it to him in +silence. He had deciphered the pencilled scrawl with difficulty. The name +was Catherine Pursill, Charleswood, Surrey. It remained in his mind for a +special reason. Sisily was afraid she might lose the paper (perhaps, like +her mother, she had some prescience of the future) and he had endeavoured +to divert her thoughts by making "memory pictures" of the name and address +after the method of a thought reader. He had told her to picture a cat +sitting on a window ledge, and that would fix the name in her mind. +"Purr"--"Sill"--there it was! As for the place, it was only necessary to +imagine him wandering in a wood (he slyly suggested it)--Charleswood, and +there they were again! + +Sisily had smiled wanly at these "memory pictures" and said she would +always be able to remember the address of her mother's old friend by their +means. + +They were effectual enough in his own case. The grotesque association of +ideas brought the address to his mind when he first thought of seeking +Sisily in London. He decided to go to Charleswood as soon as he reached +there. The dying woman seemed quite certain her old friend was still in +Charleswood, although it was twenty years since she had heard from her. +She had told Sisily that Mrs. Pursill's house was her own, and it had +belonged to her parents before her. She had assumed that she was not +likely to move. The possibility that Death might have moved her without +consulting her convenience did not seem to have occurred to her. + +It did to Charles Turold though, on his journey up from Cornwall. But he +thrust the chilling thought resolutely from him, clinging to his slight +clue because he had nothing else to sustain him, building such hopes upon +it that by the time he reached London scarcely a doubt remained. He spent +the last hour of his journey picturing his meeting with the runaway girl, +holding her, kissing her, sheltering her in his arms from the world. And +afterwards? He refused to contemplate what was to happen afterwards, and +how he was to shield her from the unsentimental clutch of the law which +was also seeking her. He declined also to allow his thoughts to dwell upon +his own position, which was invidious and threatening enough in all +conscience for a man setting out to be the buckler and shield of a girl in +Sisily's plight. He put these obtrusive contingencies out of his mind. +Time enough for those bitter reflections afterwards. The great thing was +to find Sisily first, before shaping further action. So he reasoned, with +the single purpose of a man mastered by love, and the desperate instinct +of a reckless temperament which gambled with life, never looking beyond +the next throw. + +He retained sufficient caution to refrain from going to his father's house +in Richmond when he reached London. His father's parting words lingered +unpleasantly in his mind to serve as a warning against the folly of that +course. The same unusual prudence compelled him to leap out of a taxi-cab +as soon as he had leapt into it. For himself he did not care, but he had +to be careful for Sisily's sake. So he clambered on top of a 'bus with his +suit case. The same sobering feeling of responsibility directed his choice +of an hotel when he descended from the vehicle into the seething streets. +He chose a quiet small place off Charing Cross, and booked a room. After a +bath and some lunch he went out to a neighbouring bookstall and bought a +railway time-table. The next train to Charleswood left Charing Cross in +less than half an hour. He walked across to the station, purchased a +ticket, and took his seat. In a few minutes the train started. + +Now that he was actually on the way of putting his idea to the test his +former doubts assailed him again with renewed force, but he refused to +listen to them. He told himself that a dying woman's idea was not likely +to be wrong, and that he would find Sisily at Charleswood. She was sure to +be there, because she had nowhere else to go. So he reasoned, or sought to +reason, until the train slowed down at the station which held the solution +of his hopes and fears. + +It was a small wayside station at which he alighted--a mere hamlet set in +the slumberous calm of English rural scenery, passed by express trains +with a roar of derision by day and contemptuously winking tail-lights at +night. On the dark green background of the distant heights an eruption of +new red bungalows threatened to spread and destroy the beauty of +Charleswood at no remote date. But at present the sylvan charm of the spot +was unspoiled. Its meadows and fields seemed to lie happily unconscious of +the contagion flaming on the billowy hills. + +The porter who emerged from a kind of wooden kennel and clattered up to +Charles to collect his ticket, stared hard when the young man asked if +Mrs. Pursill lived at Charleswood. He appeared to give the matter deep +thought before nodding affirmatively, and accompanied him to the station +entrance to point out an old house lying behind a strip of white fence and +a clump of dark-green trees half-way up a distant hill (not where the +bungalows were cropping up, but in the opposite direction), with the +intimation that it was the residence of the lady he was looking for. He +then watched Charles down the rambling village street until he was out of +sight. + +It was a long walk--more than a mile--before Charles reached the white +fence and the group of trees which shielded the house behind dark-green +foliage. He caught a glimpse of partly shuttered windows peeping through +this leafy screen, but it was not until he had passed through the trees +that he had a clear view of the house. + +The place was dreary and dilapidated, with a partly shuttered front. The +green-stained walls and a mask of ivy gave the place a resemblance to a +large ivy-grown tomb. Charles's spirits were depressed as he looked at it. +There was something so wan and melancholy in its appearance that his high +anticipations rapidly faded. In the face of that reality he could no +longer picture a silver-haired gracious old lady welcoming Sisily with +tears in her eyes for the sake of her dead mother. The human qualities of +warmth and tenderness did not accord with that chilling neglected +exterior. + +He approached the door, his sensations painful enough in the mingled +tumult of suspense, hope, and fear. There was no bell, only an +old-fashioned brass knocker, which, with a kind of surly stiffness, +resisted his attempt to use it. He managed to wrench one knock out of it, +and left it suspended in the air. + +There was a considerable pause before the knock was answered. Then the +door was opened by a pretty slim servant girl. There was nothing funereal +in her appearance except her black dress, and that was set off by a +coquettish white apron. She looked at the young man with questioning +bright eyes, as though surprised at his appearance there. + +"Does Mrs. Pursill live here?" he asked. + +"Yes, sir," she replied with a trace of hesitation. + +The barometer of hope went up several degrees in Charles's breast. "Could +I see her?" he eagerly said. + +"I'll ask, sir. What name, please?" + +"No name. Mrs. Pursill would not know it. But my business is very +important." + +The maid looked at him doubtfully, and left him standing there while she +disappeared within. From the depth of the house an agitated feminine +murmur reached him through the half-open door. "What's he like, Ruby?" +"Quite the gentleman, miss--young and very good-looking." A pause, and the +first voice rejoined: "Show him into the drawing-room, and ask him to sit +down." + +The maid came back with this message, and took Charles into a large sombre +room. She gave him a fluttered glance of coquetry as she offered him a +chair, as though she would have liked to linger with such an unusual +visitor, then went out softly, closing the door behind her. + +The room into which he had been ushered was furnished after some faded +standard of departed elegance with tapestried chairs, and couches, painted +screens, landscapes worked in black lutestring on white silk, and +collections of stuffed humming-birds which gazed wanly at the intruder +from glassy eyes. A massive dead Christ in Gobelin tapestry covered the +whole side of one wall, and from the opposite one the threaded features of +Joseph and his brethren stared gloomily down. These subjects accorded ill +with several pieces of marble statuary scattered about the room--a reeling +Bacchus, a nude Psyche, and an unchaste presentment of Leda drooping her +head over an amorous swan. A broken statue of a pastoral shepherd had been +laid on a table in the corner and partly covered with a cloth, where it +looked very much like a corpse awaiting its turn in a dissecting-room. + +Charles had a dreary wait in these surroundings. At first he sat still, +but as the time passed he endeavoured to distract his anxious thoughts by +walking round the room looking at the extraordinary collections of objects +it contained. He was earnestly scrutinizing a lutestring picture depicting +"The Origin of the Dimple"--a cupid poking his forefinger into the double +chin of a fat languishing female--when the door opened and a woman +entered. + +She was tall and thin, and had reached that period of life when it costs a +woman an effort to look in a mirror because of the menace of approaching +age which stares back from the depth of frightened eyes. Her dress, +however, suggested that she could not bring herself to believe she was yet +out of the hunt, but was still trying to follow it breathlessly on the +back of that broken-kneed and sorry steed, late middle-age. There was +something ridiculous in the girlish attire intended to convince her fellow +creatures that her day was not over; something terrible in the low blouse, +short skirt, silk stockings, gauze, lace and fluttering ribbons with which +she sought to delude the sneering figure of waiting Time. + +Charles's first startled thought was that he had unwittingly entered one +of those neglected shuttered houses of romance, where an eccentric female +recluse sits with a waiting wedding breakfast in readiness for a +bridegroom who has disappeared thirty years before. But the face of the +woman advancing towards him suggested that she was not particular about +the identity of the form emerging from the mists of time to rescue her +from virginity. She looked as if she would have gladly surrendered that +jewel to any freebooter in return for a passage in the ship of matrimony, +and gone off flying the proud signal, "All's well." + +She approached with a smile, and heaven knows what agitation in her breast +at the sight of a handsome well-dressed young man in her lonely nest. "You +wished to see me?" she asked. + +"Mrs. Pursill?" he said interrogatively. + +She made a negative sign. "I am Miss Pursill. My mother is an invalid." + +"I am most anxious to see her." + +"My mother keeps to her bedroom." + +"I have come down from London purposely to see her," he said anxiously. +"My business is very important." + +"Could you not tell me?" she murmured. + +"I am afraid not." + +She fidgeted and came a little closer, as though she liked the nearness of +his handsome presence. + +"Very well, you shall see her, but you won't be able to talk to her. Come +with me." + +They went from the room and upstairs. Miss Pursill opened a door on the +first floor and beckoned Charles to enter. It was a bedroom, furnished on +the same scale of antique magnificence as the drawing-room downstairs. In +a deep armchair in front of a fire sat an old woman, tucked up in an +eiderdown of blue and white satin. She did not look round as they entered, +but remained quite still--an immobile figure with a nodding head. + +"That is Mrs. Pursill," said her daughter. + +Charles glanced at the old woman in the chair and turned away. She was +past anything except waiting for death, and it was impossible to speak to +her or question her. She was in the last stage of senile decay. He masked +his disappointment with an effort, conscious that the eyes of the younger +woman were fixed on his face. + +"If there is anything I can tell you--" she simpered, as she met his +glance. + +His face betrayed his anxiety. + +"I had some reason to think that a young lady of my acquaintance, the +daughter of an old friend of your mother's, might be staying with her." + +"There is no young lady here," said Miss Pursill with a hard look. "I know +nothing about it. What is her name?" + +"I have made a mistake, I am afraid." Charles was instantly on his guard. +"I am really very sorry--" + +She was not altogether proof against the winning smile with which he +tendered an apology, but she looked at him strangely as she accompanied +him downstairs to the front door. + +Charles went back to London with a dark and angry face. His anger was +directed against Fate, which had arranged such a fantastic anticlimax for +his cherished hopes. The blow was almost too much for him. He had deceived +himself into thinking that he would find Sisily at Charleswood, and he +felt that he had really lost her. He was now reduced to searching for her +in the great wilderness of London, which seemed a hopeless task. + +By the time the train reached Charing Cross he rallied from his fit of +despondency. He refused to despair. Sisily was somewhere in London, at +that moment walking alone among its countless hordes, perhaps thinking of +him. He would find her--he must! Where to commence? She had reached +Paddington only a few nights ago, so that was obviously the logical +starting-point of any inquiries. To Paddington he went, this time in a +taxi-cab. + +He had an extraordinary initial piece of luck. Fortune, either regretting +her previous treatment or tantalizing him in feminine fashion with the +expectation of greater favours to come, threw him at the very outset of +his inquiries against the red-headed luggage porter who had spoken with +Sisily on her arrival from Penzance. The porter, leaning against the white +enamelled walls of a Tube passage, pictured the scene with much loquacity, +and a faithful recollection of his own share in the interview. Charles +anxiously asked him if the young lady he had encountered was very +pretty--pale and dark. The porter, with a judicial air, responded that +looks in women was, after all, a matter of taste--what was one man's meat +was another man's poison, as you might say--but this young lady had dark +hair and eyes, and her face hadn't too much colour in it, so far as he +remembered. He apologized for this vagueness of description on the plea +that one girl was very like another to a man who saw them in droves every +day, as he did. But one or two minute particulars of her dress which he +was able to supply convinced Charles that he had seen Sisily. The man +added that as far as he knew the young lady went on to Euston Square, +though he couldn't say he'd actually seen her catch the train for there. + +It was not until he had pocketed the half-crown Charles gave him that he +added a piece of information of some importance. + +"You're not the first who's been inquiring about this particular young +lady," he said. "There was somebody before you--let me see--Thursday it +was. He came strolling along, affable as you please, and seemed to know +all about it before he started. 'That young lady who arrived by the +Cornwall train on Tuesday night, porter, and asked you the way to Euston +Square--what was she like?' That took me back a bit, but I told him, just +as I've told you. He asked me another question or two, and then went into +the station-master's office." + +"What was he like?" + +"Not much older than yourself, in a brown suit, tall and thin, with +sharpish features and quick smiling eyes." + +Barrant! Charles recognized the description with a sinking heart. He +turned away with a sickening sense of the impotence of his own efforts. +Scotland Yard was searching for Sisily, and no doubt had warned all the +London police to look out for her. She might be arrested any minute. +Outside the station he bought an evening paper from a yelling newsboy, and +hastily scanned the headlines under the flare of a street lamp. There was +nothing about the Cornwall murder. So far they were safe. His own +departure from Cornwall had apparently caused no suspicion, and Sisily was +still free--somewhere in London. + +Where? To find her--that was his task. He rallied sharply from his +despondency. He would pit himself against the police. A desperate man, +guided by love, could do much--might even outwit the tremendous forces of +Scotland Yard. He would not be worthy of Sisily if he lost heart because +the odds were against him. Fortune's wheel might have a lucky turn in +store for him. + +He beckoned a passing taxi-cab. "Euston Square," he said as he entered. +That was obviously the next point of his search. + +But Fortune vouchsafed him no more favours that day. His dive into the +crowded depths of Euston Square brought forth no result--no clue which +would help in his search. He interviewed many keepers of the "temperance +hotels" and boarding-houses which abounded in that quarter, all sorts of +women, but all alike in their quick suspicious resentment of his guarded +inquiries and in their pretended ignorance of past visitors to their dingy +portals. He had little experience of the embittered sordid outlook of a +class which earned its own bread by supplying indifferent food and shelter +to London's floating population, but after his fiftieth repulse he had no +difficulty in reaching the conclusion that the police were again ahead of +him with their inquiries. + +Nevertheless he persevered fruitlessly until a late hour before returning +to his hotel to pass a sleepless night in a fever of baffled excitement. +Not till then did he realize how much he had been upheld by the hope of +finding Sisily at Charleswood. He was lost in a maze of conjectures, +fears, and impossible plans, though his intelligence told him that no plan +of search he could form was likely to be of the slightest use. Only luck +could help him there, and it was part of the hopelessness of the situation +that he dared not invoke the aid of any of those agencies or organizations +which make it their business to find persons who have disappeared in +London. His search must be a solitary one. + +The morning saw him enter upon it with a feverish energy borrowed from the +future and the desperate optimism of a temperament willing to gamble with +Fortune against such incalculable odds. At first he attempted to divine +the motives likely to actuate a girl ignorant of London in seeking a +hiding-place there, and shaped his search accordingly; but he gave that up +after a while, and decided to search the streets of the inner suburbs, in +the hope of encountering her sooner or later. His method was to purchase a +map of each district, and explore it thoroughly from one end to the other. +He got his meals anywhere, and slept in the nearest hotel where he +happened to find himself late at night. But his meals were often missed +and his broken sleep haunted with nightmare visions of the pitfalls and +snares spread for inexperienced girls in London. + +So Charles passed nearly a week of interminable tramping of London +streets, scanning the endless medley of faces in the hope of a chance +glimpse of Sisily's wistful eyes and pale features. But it is one thing to +gamble with Fortune, and another to win from her. Sometimes she flattered +Charles with a chance resemblance which sent him flying across the traffic +at the risk of his life, and once he sprang off a 'bus after a girl he saw +vanishing into an Underground lift, but it was not Sisily. The end of the +week saw him returning from uncharted areas of outer London to the more +familiar thoroughfares of the city's life, for in that time his dauntless +spirit had realized the colossal folly of any attempt to search London by +system. He had no intention of abandoning his quest, but he now felt that +it did not matter where his footsteps led him, because it was only by a +piece of wonderful luck that he could ever hope to meet Sisily. He did not +even know if she was in London. But he believed she was, and some +indomitable inward whisper kept assuring him that he would find her sooner +or later. So he kept on--and on, seeking the vision of his desires with +the insatiable eagerness of a man pursuing the unreachable horizon of a +hashish dream. + +It was towards the end of this time that it occurred to Charles to wonder +if Sisily had made her way to Charleswood since his first visit there. He +was resting in a Lambeth public-house after an exhausting day's wanderings +over South London when this thought came to him. He sat up, slapping his +thigh with excitement, asking himself why he had not thought of that +before. It was a chance--certainly a chance. He decided to run down to +Charleswood again on the following afternoon. + +He did, and found himself disappointed once more. The elegant Miss Pursill +had gone to Brighton for change of air, but the pretty maid, who had been +left behind to look after the house and the decayed old lady, assured him +that there had been nobody to see Mrs. Pursill since his last visit. Miss +Pursill went away the very next day after he was down, and there had been +no callers or visitors. + +She imparted this information at first with a sparkle of coquetry in her +eye, then with a glance of compassion as she noticed how much the debonair +visitor had changed for the worse since she saw him last. She looked at +him solicitously, as though she would have liked to remove with womanly +hands the marks of neglect from his apparel. From the door she watched him +making his way back to the station. She stood there in the shade of the +evening, following him with her eyes until the bend of the road hid him +from view. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + + +The train was moving out after the briefest stop at a place so +unimportant, and he swung himself into one of the carriages gliding past +him. At first he thought the compartment was empty, but as the train +emerged from a tunnel immediately beyond the station gates he observed a +man with glasses reading a newspaper in the opposite corner seat. That +reminded him to buy an evening paper at the next stopping place, a town of +some importance, where a number of intending passengers were waiting on +the platform. Several pushed past him into the compartment. He did not +heed them. He sat in a deep reverie, his paper unfolded in his hand, past +scenes flowing through his brain as the train sped on towards London. The +carriage and its occupants receded from his vision, and he was back again +on the Cornwall cliffs with Sisily. Her face appeared before his eyes just +as he had seen it in their last parting. + +He came back with an effort to the world of events, and unfolded his +newspaper. That was a daily ordeal from which he shrank, yet dared not +evade. During the past week he had faced it in all sorts of places: street +corners, public squares, obscure restaurants, the burrowed windings of +Underground stations, and once in the dark interior of a cinema where he +had followed a girl with a vague resemblance to Sisily. As the days went +on and he read nothing to alarm him, his tension grew less. It really +looked as if Scotland Yard and the newspapers had forgotten all about the +Cornwall murder, or had relegated it to the list of undiscoverable +mysteries. + +He now glanced at the headlines listlessly enough. The editor could offer +nothing better on his front page that night than Ireland and the +industrial situation. Charles opened the sheet and looked inside. His +listlessness vanished as his eye fell upon his own name. In the guise of +fat black capitals it headed a half-column article about his uncle's +death. Charles read it through, slowly and deliberately, to the end. He +learnt that there had been what the writer called fresh developments in +the case. The police were now looking for another suspect--himself. The +detective engaged upon the case had suspicions of the murdered man's +nephew for some time past, but had his reasons for reticence--reasons +which had now so completely disappeared that Scotland Yard had made public +a full description of the young man and the additional information that he +was supposed to be in London. Charles found himself reading the +description of himself with the detached, slightly wondering air with +which a man might be supposed to read his own death notice. He weighed the +personal details quite critically. Young and tall. Yes. Good-looking. Was +he? Dark blue eyes. Were they? He had never thought about them. Of +gentlemanly appearance. That read like the advertisement of a Cheapside +tailor--what was a gentlemanly appearance, if he had it? He had always +associated it with a cheap lounge suit and a bowler hat. Very well +dressed--then followed the description of his clothes. But he couldn't be +well dressed and of gentlemanly appearance at the same time! + +These preoccupations floated lightly, almost playfully, on the surface of +his mind, but the great fact had sunk to the depths like lead. His +father's fears had been right, and his departure from Cornwall had drawn +attention to his actions on that night. He was--what was the +phrase?--wanted by the police. So was Sisily. He was searching for Sisily, +and the police were searching for both of them. + +What had the police discovered about him? His lips framed the reply. +Everything. That was to say, all there was to find out. Obviously they had +discovered his visit to Flint House on that night, or at least, that he +was out in the storm during the time the murder was committed. His +commonsense told him the reason for Barrant's reticence. He had kept quiet +in the hope that he would go to his father's house at Richmond, which no +doubt had been closely watched. Now that Barrant had come to the +conclusion that the man he was after was too clever to walk into that +trap, he had confided his suspicions to the newspapers in order to guard +all avenues of escape by putting the public on the watch for him. + +A feeling of helplessness crept over Charles as he contemplated the +incredible ingenuity of the mesh of events in which he and Sisily were +entangled. Any moment might terminate his liberty and see him placed under +lock and key. Would it help Sisily if he gave himself up and told all he +knew? That was a question he had asked himself before, and dismissed it +because he realized that his own story might involve her more deeply +still. And the loss of time since then, coupled with his own +disappearance, intensified the risk which such a course would entail. +There was no hope for her in that direction. Where, then, were they to +look for hope? + +He was recalled to his surroundings by a hand laid on his arm. He started +and looked round. The man next to him, with a glance at the paper in his +hand, asked him if he could tell him the winner of the second race at +Lingfield. "It ought to be in the stop-press," he murmured. Charles turned +the sheet to the indicated column, and the inquirer glanced at it with a +satisfied smile, and the remark that it was only what he had expected, in +spite of the weight. "A good horse," he remarked approvingly. "But perhaps +you don't go in for racing yourself?" + +Charles resisted an insane impulse to shout with laughter. Didn't go in +for racing! He was going in for racing with a vengeance--a race against +time and the police. What was he to do now? + +He glanced round him restlessly. The swaying noisy train and the +compartment packed with stolid faces jarred on his overburdened nerves. +Why were those women in the next compartment laughing like hyenas? What +was there in life to laugh over at any time? It was a thing to impose +silence on all by its desolation, its unescapable doom. His eye was caught +by an advertisement above the rack opposite him--an advertisement which +depicted a smiling grotesque face, and advised him to buy the comic +journal it represented in order to dissipate melancholy and gloom. + +Fools--fools all! + +While he was thus looking around him his eyes encountered a curious glance +from the man in the opposite corner seat, who had been in the compartment +when he entered the train at Charleswood. The man dropped his gaze at +once, but there was something in the quality of the look which put Charles +on his guard. Charles did not turn his head again, but, leaning back in +his seat, kept the other under view from seemingly closed eyes. He was +soon convinced that the man in the corner seat was watching him--shooting +furtive glances across the carriage from behind the screen of his +newspaper. + +Was he a detective? Not if Barrant was a usual representative of the +tribe. Yet there was something infernally quizzical in the scrutiny which +reached him through those gold-rimmed glasses. Stay, though! Did +detectives wear glasses? Wasn't there an eyesight test or something like +that for officers of the law? He had never seen a policeman wearing +glasses. If he was not a detective, why was he watching him? There was no +reward offered for his arrest. Perhaps he belonged to the wretched type of +beings who pride themselves on their public spirit--men who wrote letters +to the newspapers and interfered in other people's business. The beast +might have guessed his identity and wanted to show his public spirit by +handing him over to the police. The newspaper in his hand! Of course. He +had read his description there, and identified him. + +Charles found himself conjecturing how the man would set about carrying +out his task of public watchdog, if that was in his mind. He pictured the +possibility of him appealing to the others in the compartment. He might +get up and say: "There is a murderer in this compartment. I recognize him +from the description in this paper, and I call upon you all as +public-spirited citizens to see that he does not escape justice." The +torpid passengers would start up, staring and looking foolish after the +fashion of English people when asked to do something unusual. Would they +help? There was a stout man opposite with the symptoms of a public spirit +lurking in the creases of his fat self-satisfied face. Charles promised +himself that he would give them a fight for it. He counted his chances. He +was aware from his previous journey to Charleswood that the train he was +in now ran through to Charing Cross without another stop. Perhaps the man +in the corner seat would wait until they arrived there, and then give him +in charge. That was a disconcerting possibility, but he could see no way +of guarding against it unless he chose to drop from the train, now +travelling at nearly forty miles an hour, taking the risk of being maimed +or killed. He considered the advisability of that. It was a chance he +might have taken casually enough on his own account, but he had also to +think of Sisily. She would be quite friendless if he were killed. Besides, +there was also the chance that he might be mistaken in interpreting the +man's intentions by his own fears. At all events he seemed to have no +thought of springing up and denouncing him. Charles decided to wait and +trust to luck to escape in the crowd at Charing Cross if the man made any +move there. + +In ten minutes the train was running into Charing Cross station at slowing +speed. Charles's mouth closed tightly, and his face flushed. + +The man in the corner seat flattened his newspaper into a pocket, opened +the carriage door, and sprang out on to the platform. Charles followed him +quickly, and stood still watching him make his way towards the barrier. He +saw him press through, give up his ticket, and disappear without so much +as a backward glance. + +There was something so ridiculous in this anticlimax to his poignant fears +that the young man was for the moment actually exasperated. But his face +and linen were wet with perspiration. Then a great feeling of relief swept +over him like a cooling wave. He followed in the wake of the other +passengers and emerged from the station into the street. + +It was early enough for the shops to be still open, but the streets were +thronged with pleasure-seekers going to restaurants and places of +amusement. As he stood there a painted girl touched him on the arm with an +enticing smile for such wares as she had to sell, and her solicitation +awakened him sharply to the folly of standing in the lighted Strand at +that hour in full view of every passing policeman. He walked slowly away, +debating where to turn his steps. An outfitter's shop displaying overcoats +gave him a bright idea. He walked inside and selected a long dark coat +which reached to his heels, putting it on over the light and fashionable +coat he was wearing. The shopman seemed surprised at his choice, but made +no comment as he took his money and handed him his change. Charles caught +a glimpse of himself as he went out, and was satisfied with his changed +appearance. In that shapeless garment he was no longer likely to catch the +eye of any unduly curious observer as a "well-dressed" man. + +He now walked swiftly. Turning out of Chandos Street from the Strand, he +avoided the brightly lit proximity of Leicester Square, and plunged into +the crooked dark streets on the other side of Charing Cross Road. He +reached New Oxford Street, crossed it, and continued along obscure +streets, his head bent forward, in the unconscious habit of a man thinking +deeply as he went. + +In the first feeling of dismay at the discovery that the police were +looking for him he had been overwhelmed by a sense of catastrophe. With +the passing of that phase he was able to consider the situation with a +cooler brain, and it now seemed to him that his position was not so +precarious as he deemed it in the light of that shock. He knew London, and +might be able to evade arrest indefinitely if he took precautions and +avoided risks. But Sisily was in different case. He recalled her telling +him that she had only been in London once, as a child with her father. Her +inexperience of London was her greatest danger, because it was likely to +attract attention. The only one to whom she could look for help was +himself. + +His determination to find her was doggedly renewed as he thought of that. +He accepted the lengthened odds against him with the desperate dark +courage of a spirit which had always regarded life as a gamble against +unseen forces holding marked cards. The police were searching for him? +Very well. He would pit his wits against theirs, and continue his own +search for Sisily with a caution he had hitherto disdained to use. + +Courage and caution! Those were the two qualities he must use in adroit +combination. The plight of both Sisily and himself was desperate enough +now without giving the enemy a chance by recklessness. He was like a man +rowing a small boat in the immensity of a dark sea which threatened every +moment to engulf him. Sisily was somewhere in that darkness, and she must +be rescued. If his own cockleshell went down there could be no succour for +her. That was a thought to make him keep afloat--to keep on rowing. + +And suppose that he did find her, as he believed he would, sooner or +later--given time. What was to happen then? + +That thought pursued him in his walk that night, and was his constant +companion in the lonely days and nights of his wanderings which followed. +He had banished it before, but that course was no longer possible. The +impalpable yet terribly real menace of authority overshadowing them both +now made it imperative that all the facts should be faced. All the +facts--but what were they? It was the question he asked himself again and +again as he strove to twist out of the black fantasy of that horrible +night some tangible shred of truth which might help them both. His own +incredible share in it was forever being re-enacted in his mind, and +haunted his dreams. In the night, at early dawn, at odd moments of his +eternal quest, the curtain of his mind would rise on that unforgettable +scene--the cliffs, the rocks, the darkling outline of Flint House, with a +feeble beam of light slanting down from the upstairs window at the back +which looked out on the sea. Then the gush of light from the open door, +and her shape stealing forth into the darkness, followed by +another--Thalassa's. And then, the final phase--the desolate house, the +wind rushing noisily along dark passages, the dead form of Robert Turold +in the room upstairs. What did these things mean, and what was to be the +end? + +His hope was that Sisily could reveal something which would furnish the +key to the enigma of that night's events. From her lips he might learn +enough to guide him to the hidden truth, and save them both. Sustained by +the feeling that she existed somewhere near him, he continued his search +day after day until in the abstracted intensity of his fancy London +assumed the appearance of a wilderness of unending streets filled with +pallid faces which flitted past his vision like ghosts. But the face he +was seeking was never among them. + +He searched with the wariness of one whose own liberty depended upon his +watchfulness. A second glance, an indignant look, a turn of the head, a +policeman's casual eye--any of these things would place him immediately on +his guard and turn his footsteps in a different direction. He chose his +sleeping places with care at the last minute, and left them at early +morning when only a yawning night porter or a sleepy maid servant was +astir. He never returned to the same place, nor did he go to the same +restaurant twice. Most carefully did he read the newspapers, but nothing +appeared in their columns to alarm him; merely an occasional perfunctory +paragraph about the Cornwall murder. The favourite adjective in the +journalistic etymological garden was culled for the heading, and it was +described as an amazing case. Charles felt that the definition was correct +enough. Early developments were faithfully promised--by the newspaper. +Charles understood very well what was meant by that. It was hoped he would +provide the development by falling into the hands of the police. He smiled +a little at that, but the unintended warning increased his vigilance. + +On the whole he felt tolerably safe in the crowded London streets. It was +not as though there was any real hue and cry after him. The lonely +Cornwall tragedy had not come into sufficient public notice for that, and +now it seemed almost forgotten. + +He had his hazards and chances, though in a different way. One was an +encounter with a young man of good family whose acquaintance, commenced in +France during the war, had continued in London afterwards. The two young +men had seen a great deal of each other--dining and going to music-halls +together. It was in Leicester Square that Charles saw him getting out of a +taxi-cab to enter a hall where a professional billiard match was in +progress. He paused midway at the sight of Charles, exclaiming: "Why, +Tur--" The second syllable of the name was nipped off in mid-air, and the +outstretched arm was dropped, as the patron of billiards took in the cut +of his former friend's coat. He gazed at the ill-fitting garment with a +kind of astonished animosity, and then his puzzled look shot upwards to +the face surmounting it, no doubt with the feeling that he may have been +deceived by a chance resemblance. Charles went past him without a sign of +recognition, but he felt that the other was still staring after him. + +Another day a street musician regarded him curiously from behind a barrel +organ which he was turning with the lifeless celerity of one without +interest in the sounds created by the process. His card of appeal--"Wanted +in 1914; not wanted now"--helped Charles to recall him as a soldier of his +old regiment. They exchanged glances across the card. The man gave no sign +that he knew his former officer, but Charles had no doubt that he did. He +placed a coin on top of the organ and went swiftly on. + +A week of increasing strain slipped by, and another commenced. Then +Fortune, with a contemptuous good-humoured spin of her wheel, did for +Charles Turold what he could hardly have hoped to achieve in a year's +effort without her aid. + +It was late at night, and he was in a despondent mood after one of his +recurring disappointments--this time a graceful slender shape which he had +earlier in the evening pursued in a flock of home-going shop-girls until +she turned and revealed a pert Cockney face which bore no resemblance to +Sisily's. Several hours later he paid another of his visits to Euston +Square, which he believed to be the starting-point of Sisily's own +wanderings. He felt closer to her in that locality because of that. From +Euston Square he walked on aimlessly, engrossed in impossible plans for +finding Sisily by hook or crook, until the illuminated dial of a street +clock, pointing to half-past ten, reminded him of the passage of time. + +He paused and looked round. He was in an area of darkened suburban streets +converging on a distant broader avenue, where occasional taxi-cabs slid +past into the blackness of the night with the heartless velocity of years +disappearing into the gulf of Time. + +He turned his steps in the direction of this thoroughfare in order to find +out the locality, but stopped half-way at the sight of a coffee-stall on +the opposite side of the street. He was hungry and thirsty, and he had +learnt to like the safety of these places in his wanderings. The food +might be coarse, but there were no lengthy waits between courses; no +curious glances from the other patrons. A couple of half-drunken young men +were feeding at this stall, and a girl of the streets was standing near +them. In the light of a swinging lamp the scene shone clearly in the +surrounding darkness--the brass urn, the thick crockery, the head of the +stall-keeper bent intently over a newspaper, the munching jaws of the +customers, the girl in the background with splashes of crimson paint like +blood on her white drawn face. + +Charles was about to cross the street, but at that moment a policeman's +helmet emerged slowly from the surrounding darkness as if irresistibly +attracted by the concentric glow of the light. At the sight of him Charles +shrank back into the friendly shadow of his own side of the road. The +policeman emerged into the fulness of the light, serene in his official +immobility. His slow yet seeing vision dwelt on the painted girl with a +gaze as penetrating as that of Omnipotence in its profound knowledge of +evil. He strolled towards her with a kind of indifferent benignity with +which Providence has also been credited. He raised a hand, omnipotent with +the authority of the law. "Better get away from here," Charles heard him +warn her, and she disappeared from view in obedience to this command. + +So did Charles, but in quite another direction. There was something about +these chance manifestations of authority, so lightly exercised, so +unhesitatingly obeyed, which never failed to thrill and impress him, as +they would have thrilled and impressed any other man in his present +position. They seemed to intensify the hopelessness of his own situation. +He had a slight feeling of creepiness about the spine as he thought of the +narrowness of that escape--though, of course, the policeman might not have +identified him. But some day or other it was bound to come--that +accidental confrontation which might mean his arrest. + +He walked swiftly until he reached the avenue. It was a part of London +that he did not know, and appeared quite deserted. He wondered which way +he should turn to get back to that area of London where he usually sought +a bed. + +As he stood there glancing about him irresolutely, his eye caught a +glimpse of somebody walking swiftly along--a slight girlish figure dimly +visible in the dark vista of the empty street. There was something +familiar in the girl's outline--something which caused his heart to give a +great maddening jump. As he looked she turned into one of the converging +streets. + +He raced up the broad road, indifferent at that moment whether the eyes of +all the policemen in London were upon him. When he reached the street +which had swallowed her he could see nothing of the form which had excited +him. Then, far ahead, he again saw it passing under a distant lamp-post +and merge once more into the darkness. He ran quickly in pursuit. + +The girl heard him coming and looked back anxiously. This time he saw her +face. In a bound he was at her side. + +"Sisily, Sisily!" he cried. "Oh, Sisily, I have found you!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + + +He saw her white face sharply uplifted in the darkness, and caught the +startled gleam of her dark eyes. Then she recognized him. + +"You!" she breathed. "Oh, Charles, how did you find me?" + +"It was chance, Sisily--but no, it was something deeper and stranger than +chance." He spoke in a tone of passionate conviction. "I have been walking +London day and night, seeking for you. I felt sure I should find you +sooner or later. I had given up hope for tonight, though. It was so +late--so late--" The tumult of his feelings checked his utterance. + +"I dare not go out earlier," she whispered. + +That was a reminder which brought him back sharply to the reality of +things. He looked anxiously around him in the dark and empty street. In +the vulgar expression they were both "wanted"--wanted by the police. The +danger was doubled now that they were together. That was a freezing +thought which had not occurred to him during his search for her. It +occurred to him now. + +"I wonder where we could go and talk in safety?" he murmured--"and decide +what is best to do." + +"We might go to where I am staying," she unexpectedly suggested. "It is at +the end of this street." + +"Would that be quite safe?" he hazarded doubtfully. + +"I think so. Mrs. Johns told me that she would be very late to-night. She +goes to spiritualistic meetings, and does not return home until early +morning sometimes. We should be alone, and free to talk. There is nobody +else in the house." + + +He was too eager to raise any doubts of the safety of the suggested +harbourage. Their conversation, which had been carried on in suppressed +and whispered tones, ceased as they advanced along the quiet street. Near +the end Sisily turned into the small garden of an unlighted house. She +unlocked the hall door, and they entered. He saw her bending over the +hallstand, and guessing her intention, struck a match. She took it from +him in silence, lit the hall gas, and shut the front door carefully. Then +she struck another match from a box on the hallstand, and preceding him +into a room on the right, lit the gas there. + +It was a small sitting-room, simply and almost shabbily furnished, +remarkable for some strange articles which were heaped at random on +various small tables. There was a planchette, a tambourine, and other more +mysterious appliances which suggested that the inmate spent much time with +the trappings and rappings of spiritualism. Papers and journals devoted to +spiritualism were scattered about the room, and framed "spirit +photographs" hung on the walls. + +Charles was not thinking of the interior of the room. His one thought was +of Sisily. He had not seen her clearly in the dark street. She appeared to +him now unchanged, her dear face as he had last seen it, her features +luminous with tender feeling, her dark eyes dwelling gravely on him, just +as she used to look. As she stood there, the realization of his haunting +dreams, he had to fight down an impulse to take her in his arms. But it +was not the moment for that. Because of the graveness of their situation, +love had to stand aside. + +"Sisily, why did you go away?" he asked at length. + +She did not immediately reply, but lowered her glance as though collecting +her thoughts. His look fastened with anxious scrutiny on her downcast +face. She did not raise her eyes as she answered. + +"I had to go, Charles," was all she said. + +"Why did you not tell me, Sisily?" he said in a tone of reproach. "Why did +you not let me know, that last day on the cliffs?" + +He failed to understand the glance she cast at him as he asked these +questions, but it seemed to contain an element of surprise, almost +astonishment. Absorbed in his own gloomy thoughts, he went on. + +"Do you remember what you told me about your mother's old nurse, and our +memory pictures of her name? I thought you had gone there. So I went to +Charleswood to look for you." + +"I did think of going there. I intended to when I left Cornwall," she +hurriedly rejoined. "Then, afterwards, I thought it best not to. I stayed +at a private hotel in Euston Road on my first night in London, but did not +like it, and next day I went to a boarding-house near Russell Square. I +meant to write to Mrs. Pursill from there, telling her my mother was dead. +But that night after dinner I heard some of the boarders talking of--the +murder, and I knew I couldn't go to Charleswood--then. I left that place +early next morning, and came here. I had been walking about all the +morning, not knowing what to do, when I saw the card in this window saying +that there was a room to let. Mrs. Johns told me she wanted to let the +room more for company than anything else, because she lived alone. I was +glad to find it, and grateful to her." + +"You have known all along that the police are looking for you?" he said +gravely. + +"After I heard them talking at the boarding-house," rejoined simply. "One +of the women had an evening paper, and read it aloud to the others. I knew +then, of course. The woman kept looking at me as she read as though she +suspected that I was the missing girl. I was very nervous, but tried to +pretend that I didn't notice, and left the room as soon as I dared." "What +about this Mrs. Johns--does she suspect anything?" he asked anxiously. + +"Oh, no. She is a very unworldly kind of woman, and thinks of nothing but +spiritualism. She never reads newspapers." + +"Do not talk about it," he said suddenly, as though this picture of her +wanderings was too much to be borne. "Why did you go away from Cornwall +without a word? You said you had reasons. What were they, Sisily?" + +"I will tell you--now." The soft difference in the tone of the last word +was too femininely subtle for him to understand. "That afternoon, when my +father was talking to you all in the front room downstairs--do you +remember?" + +"Yes, yes," he said impatiently. + +"I heard something--I was at the door." + +"It was you, then, and not Thalassa, who looked through the door!" he +said, glancing at her curiously. + +"I did not mean to listen," she replied, flushing slightly. "I was going +out to the cliffs--to the Moon Rock. I was very unhappy, and wanted to be +alone with my thoughts. On my way past the door something my father was +saying reached me. It concerned me. I did not take it in at first, or +understand what it really meant. As I stood there, wondering, my eyes met +my aunt's through the opening in the door, and I saw her spring to her +feet. I hurried away because I did not want to see her. I wanted to think +over what I had just heard, to try and understand what it meant. + +"I went down to the Moon Rock, and sat there, thinking and thinking. They +were so strange and terrible, those words I had overheard, but they were +so few that I did not really guess then all that they meant. All I knew +was that there was some dreadful secret behind them, some secret of my +mother's which had something to do with me. I wished that I had heard +more. As I sat there, wondering what I ought to do, you came--" + +"To tell you that I loved you, that I shall love you as long as I live," +he interrupted eagerly. + +Again a faint flush rose to her cheeks, but she hurried on: "I could not +tell you that I loved you while those dreadful words of my father were +ringing in my ears. I wanted to see him first, to question him, to know if +I had partly guessed the truth, or if there was any loophole of escape for +me. Oh, do not think any worse of me now if I tell you that I loved you +then and shall always love you. I wanted to tell you so that day by the +Moon Rock, but I knew that I must not." + +"Why not?" His louder voice broke in on her subdued tones impetuously. +"You should not have sent me away, Sisily. That was wrong. It has brought +much misery upon us both." + +"It was not wrong!" she replied, with unexpected firmness and a momentary +hardness of glance, which reminded him of her father's look. "It was +because I was nobody--less than that, if what I thought was true. There +was your position to think of. You were to come into the title--my father +told me that before." + +"Damn the title!" the young man burst out furiously. "I told you that day +I would have nothing to do with it. Why did you think about that?" + +"Because I've heard of nothing else all my life, I suppose," she rejoined +with the ghost of a smile. "I couldn't tell you then that I loved you, +because of it, and other things. Now, it is different. It does not matter +what I say--now." She spoke these words with an underlying note of deep +sadness, and went on: "When you told me that you loved me I saw my duty +plainly. I knew I must go away and hide myself from you, from everybody, +go somewhere where nobody knew me, where I would never be known. But I +wanted to see my father first, to make sure." + +"I understand," he muttered in a dull voice. + +"I thought it all out on the way to the hotel with my aunt. I determined +to go back and see my father that night. I felt that I could not sleep +until I knew the whole truth. I left the dinner table as soon as I could, +and hurried down to the station to catch the half-past seven wagonette to +St. Fair. + +"I got out of the wagonette at the cross-roads, and walked over the moors. +When I reached Flint House I knocked at the door, and Thalassa let me in. +I told him I wanted to see my father, and he said he would wait downstairs +and take me back across the moors when I came down. + +"I ran upstairs and knocked at the door of my father's study. He did not +reply, so I opened the door and went in. He was sitting at his table +writing, and when he looked up and saw me he was very angry. 'You, +Sisily!' he said--'what has brought you here at this hour?' I told him I +had come to hear the truth from his own lips. I asked him to tell me +everything. He gave me one of his black looks, but it did not frighten +me--nothing would have frightened me then. He seemed to consider for a +moment, and then said that perhaps, after all, it would be better if he +told me himself. + +"So he told me--told me in half-a-dozen sentences which seemed to burn +into my brain. I sat still for a while, almost stunned, I think; then, as +the full force of what he had told me came home to my mind, I did +something I had never done before. I pleaded with my father--not for my +own sake, but for my mother's. I told him I would go anywhere, do +anything, if he would only keep her secret safe. I might as well have +pleaded with the rocks. He sat there with a stern face until I went down +on my knees to him and begged him to think about it--to keep it secret for +a little while at least. He grew angry, very angry, at that. I remember--I +shall never be able to forget--his reply. 'A little while?' he said, 'and +the claim for the title is to be heard next week. I'm to postpone my claim +for the sake of your mother, a ----'" + +Sisily broke off suddenly, her white face flaming scarlet, her eyes widely +distended, as though that last terrible scene was again produced before +her vision. Charles Turold watched her mutely, with the understanding that +nothing he could say would bring comfort to her stricken soul. + +She continued after a pause-- + +"I left him then. I knew that I should never be able to speak to him +again. Downstairs, Thalassa was waiting for me. He had a letter in his +hand. He looked at me, but did not speak, just opened the door, and we +went out across the moors. We went silently. Thalassa was always kind to +me, and I think that somehow he understood. It was not until we were +nearing the cross-roads that I turned to him and said quickly, 'Thalassa, +you must not tell anybody that I saw my father tonight.' I wanted to keep +it secret, I wanted nobody to know--never. I knew my father would not +talk, it was not of sufficient consequence to him. He thought of nothing +but the title. Thalassa promised that he wouldn't. 'Nobody will ever find +out from me, Miss Sisily,' he said. + +"Thalassa went back, across the moors, and I waited by the cross-roads +till the wagonette came. When I got back to the hotel I went up to my room +and to bed. I do not know what time it was next morning when my aunt came +into my room, and told me that my father was dead. She did not tell me +much. There had been a terrible accident, she said, and he had been found +dead in his room. I did not feel shocked, only ... indifferent. I did not +even wonder what had happened--not then. Afterwards I overheard one of the +maids in the corridor telling another that it was suicide. + +"That made no difference to me, except that I wanted more than ever to get +away. I formed my plans quickly, to go to London that day, but not by the +express. I knew my aunt would not go back that morning after what had +happened, but I thought her husband might have to go on business. And the +express is always crowded. I did not wish to be seen and brought back. So +I decided the slow midday train would be safest for me. I waited for a +time, and then I was able to slip away from the hotel without being +noticed, while my aunt was out. I got to London that night, feeling lonely +and miserable. I knew I had done right, but I could not help thinking ... +of you." + +She ceased. Charles Turold got up from his seat and took a turn round the +room, then came back and stood looking down at her as she sat with her +hand resting on the dark polished surface of the table. His first words +seemed to convey some inward doubt of the adequacy of the motive for +disappearance which her story revealed. + +"You should not have gone away like that, Sisily," he said soberly. "There +was no reason, no real reason, I mean. Where was the necessity, after what +I told you? Why should your father's death have made you more anxious to +go? It seems to me that you had no reason then." + +She looked at him sadly in her first experience of masculine +incomprehension of woman's exaltation of sacrifice in love, but she did +not speak. He continued. "But we must think of what's to be done." He +walked up and down the room again, considering this question with +compressed brows. He stopped, struck by a thought, and looked at her. "The +police have been trying to find out from Thalassa whether you went back to +Flint House that night, but he will not tell them anything. So they +suspect him also." + +She roused at that. "Oh, they must not!" she cried in distress. "Poor +Thalassa! He must tell them the truth." + +"The question is--what is the truth?" It flashed through his mind as he +spoke that his interrogation was the echo of one put to him by his father +before he left Cornwall. + +"The truth is, that Thalassa and I left the house together that night +before it happened. Oh, cannot they believe that? Cannot it be proved?" + +"I could tell them when you left," he said in a low tone. + +"You!" she cried, looking at him with a kind of fear. "How do you know?" + +"Because I saw you. I was standing outside, close to the house." + +"Why were you there?" she put in quickly. + +He was slower in answering. "I had gone to see your father--about you. I +was standing there, thinking ... waiting, when the front door opened, and +you and Thalassa came out. I was surprised to see you, but it seemed to me +an opportunity--a final chance--to speak to you again. I started after +you, Sisily, once more to ask you to consider my love for you, but you and +Thalassa were swallowed up in the darkness of the moors before I could +reach you. I followed with the intention of overtaking you, but I got lost +on the moors instead, and was wandering about in the blackness for nearly +half an hour before I found my way back to Flint House again." + +"Could you not tell them--the police--that?" she asked, a little +wistfully. + +"It would be useless," he solemnly replied. + +"What do you mean?" she said breathlessly. + +His rejoinder was a long time in coming. When his set lips moved the words +were barely audible. "Because I would not be believed. Because I went +straight up the path to the house, determined to see your father before it +grew later. The front door was open, and the house seemed in complete +darkness. I entered, and went upstairs. There was a light in your father's +study. I found your father--dead." He fixed care-worn eyes upon her. "That +story sounds incredible, even to you, doesn't it? But--" + +"Oh!" That startled cry seemed wrung from her involuntarily. Then, +swiftly, as if her mind had detached itself to look on her own actions +that night through his eyes: "You thought, you believed that I--" She +checked herself, but her look completed the thought. + +"I did not know what to think, but I did not think--that," he gloomily +rejoined. "Afterwards, the next night, I found out something which made me +think--" He paused. + +"Yes, yes, tell me what you thought," she said nervously. + +"I thought it was Thalassa." + +She shook her head. + +"Who was it then? The latest theory of the police is that I had something +to do with it. They're looking for both of us. They must have found out +that I was at Flint House that night. It's too late to tell them the truth +now, not that they were likely to have believed me at any time. Why, my +own father believes that I did this thing." He laughed discordantly. "I +tried to convince your father's lawyer of your innocence, and I might have +told him the truth if he had been sympathetic. I don't know, though," he +added anxiously. "I had to consider your position all along. If my story +was disbelieved it only made it worse for you. If it was not Thalassa, who +could it have been? Have you any idea--the faintest suspicion?" + +Again she shook her head. She made an effort to look at him, but there +were tears in her eyes for the first time. His hand was resting on the +table, and she touched it gently with her fingers. + +"We must find out." He spoke loudly, as if with the idea that a firm +utterance lessened the tremendous difficulty of that performance. + +"What can we do?" Her tone was hopeless enough. + +"Let me think." He fiddled with the planchette on the table as though he +had some notion of invoking the shade of Robert Turold to answer the +question. "Had your father any enemy? Did he fear anybody?" + +She raised thoughtful eyes to his in reply. + +"My father feared nobody," she said, "at least, I do not think so. Nobody +had any real influence over him except Thalassa." + +"What sort of an influence?" + +"It is difficult to describe," she hesitatingly answered. "Thalassa could +take liberties which nobody else would have dared. He used to go into his +room at any time. Sometimes I have awakened late at night and heard the +murmur of their voices coming from my father's study." + +"Anything else?" he said, looking at her keenly. + +"There was never any question of Thalassa leaving us," she went on. +"Wherever we went, and we were always going to some fresh part of England +about the title, Thalassa went also. Perhaps it was because he had known +him for so long that my father allowed Thalassa to do things which nobody +else could do. Thalassa used to sneer about the title, and say no good +would come of it. They had a quarrel once, long, long ago. I was a very +little girl at the time, and I can just remember it," she added dreamily. + +She was apparently unconscious of the significance of these revelations, +but they made a deep impression upon Charles. There was something +expectant and cruel in his face as he listened--the aroused instinct of +the hunter. He addressed her-- + +"This bears out what I have believed all along. Thalassa knows about the +murder. He is mixed up in it in some way." + +"Oh, why do you think that?" she exclaimed, clasping her hand in distress. + +"Why?" he echoed. "Because your father was not the man to stand insolence +from Thalassa or anybody else unless he had to. Thalassa must have had him +under his thumb in some way. Why did I not know of this before? It's clear +enough now. Thalassa, even if he did not commit the murder--" + +"He did not," she said quickly. "He left the house with me, so he could +not have done it." + +"Then he knows who did. He and your father shared some secret +together--some dreadful secret which brought about your father's death. +That is one reason why Thalassa will not speak--because he is implicated +in this mystery, whatever it is." + +"No, no. He is keeping silence because of me--I feel sure. I made him +promise not to tell." + +Charles Turold shook his head decidedly. "He may have more than one reason +for keeping silent," he said with a swift flash of intuition. "If it is as +you say, he is shielding himself as well as you. If your father was killed +while Thalassa was out of the house that night, Thalassa knows who did +it." + +Her eyes met his in an agony of perplexity and distress. "Oh, no, I cannot +think you are right," she said. "If I could only see Thalassa--for five +minutes--" + +"What good would that do?" he abruptly demanded. + +"He would tell me the truth--if he knew." + +He shook his head incredulously. "You do not know all," he murmured. He +shrank from telling her of the marks on her father's arm. "I know +Thalassa," she eagerly replied. "He would tell me if he thought it would +help me." + +"If you think that I will go down and see him--and get it all out of him." + +"No, no! You must not go," she cried in affright. "It would not be safe +for you." + +"Would it be any more dangerous than hiding in London like a skulking +rat?" he bitterly replied. "This cannot go on. We are both in a dangerous +position, and might be arrested at any moment. What would happen then? Who +would believe my story--or yours? They sound improbable even to ourselves. +Here, at least, is a chance of discovering the truth, for I most solemnly +believe that Thalassa knows it, or guesses it. What other chance have we +of finding out the hideous mystery of that night? I must go, Sisily. I +will be careful, for your sake." + +She knew by his voice that he was not to be deterred from the hazardous +enterprise, so she did not attempt to dissuade him further. But she clung +to him trembling, as though she would have shielded him from the menace of +capture. He was thinking rapidly. + +"It may be that I shall fail," he said. "I do not think so, because I +shall take every precaution, but the police will be watching for me in +Cornwall as well as here. If I fail--if I do not come back ... you will +understand?" + +Her look answered him. + +"You had better watch the papers. And be careful on your own account." He +eyed her anxiously. "Do you think you will be safe here till I get back?" + +"Yes--I think so," she murmured sadly. + +"Very well. I will go down by to-night's train--I've just time to catch +it." He glanced at his watch with an assumption of cheerfulness. "When you +wake up in the morning I shall be in Cornwall." + + +"I shall not sleep," she said, in a miserable broken voice. "I shall lie +awake, thinking of you." + +He caught her swiftly in his arms, and kissed her on the lips. "If I find +out the truth, nothing shall come between us then, Sisily?" + +"No, nothing," she said. + +He turned with a sudden swift movement as though to go, but she still held +him. + +"Tell Thalassa ... that I ask him to tell you the truth, if he knows +it...." + +She released him then, and stood looking after him as he walked from the +room and out of the house. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + + +Flint House looked a picture of desolation in the chill grey day, wrapped +in such silence that Charles's cautious knock seemed to reverberate +through the stillness around. But the knocking, repeated more loudly, +aroused no human response. After waiting awhile the young man pulled the +bell. From within the house a cracked and jangling tinkle echoed faintly, +and then quivered into silence. He rang again, but there was no sound of +foot or voice; no noise but the cries of the gulls overhead and the hoarse +beat of the sea at the foot of the cliffs. + +A cormorant, sitting on a rock near by, twisted its thin neck to stare +fearlessly at the visitor. But Charles Turold was not thinking of +cormorants. Where was Thalassa? Where was his wife? He believed they were +still in Cornwall, but they might have left the house. He had been in +London a long while. Not so long, though--only twelve days. Twelve days! +Twelve eternities of unendurable hopelessness and loneliness, such as the +damned might know. Was he to fail, now, after finding Sisily? He had a +responsibility, a solemn duty. He had reached Cornwall safely from +London--run the gauntlet of all the watching eyes of the police--and he +would not go back without seeing Thalassa. His mind was thoroughly made +up. He would find him, if he had to walk every inch of Cornwall in search +of him. And when he found him he would wrest the truth out of him--yes, by +God, he would! When he found him, but where was he to be found? The crafty +old scoundrel might be in the house at that moment, lurking there like a +wolf, perhaps grinning down at him from behind some closed window.... A +sudden rage surged over him at that thought, and he fell savagely on the +shut door, beating it with insensate fury with his fists. Damn him, he +would force his way in! + +The cormorant ruffled its greenish feathers and watched him curiously. The +faint cries of the gulls overhead seemed borne downward with a note of +mocking derision. Charles Turold stepped back from the door with an uneasy +look at the cormorant, as though fearing to detect in its unreflecting +beadiness of glance some humanly cynical enjoyment at his loss of +self-control. The wave of feeling had spent itself. Not thus was victory +to be won. He paused to consider, then tried the knocker again. The +knocker smote the wood with a hollow sound, like a stroke on the iron door +of a vault, loud enough to rouse the dead. Charles Turold had a +disagreeable impression of Robert Turold starting up in his grave-clothes +at the summons, listening.... But no! The dead man was safe in his grave +by this time. He had forgotten that. + +A sudden silence fell on the house: a deep and profound stillness, as +though seas and wind had hushed their wailing speech to listen for the +answer to the knock. The birds, too, were silent. The house remained +immutably quiet. Charles Turold bent down, and peered through the keyhole, +but could see nothing within but darkness. Then, as he looked, a sound +reached his ears, a sound like a thin cackle of laughter from the interior +of the house. In the gathering gloom within he had a momentary impression +of a stealing greyish shape--a shape which vanished from his vision as he +looked. + +He rose to his feet, his mind groping blindly for some tangible +explanation of this spectral thing, but finding none. A ghost? He shook +off that feeling roughly. God knows, that house might well be haunted, but +not by a ghost that could laugh, though there was no merriment in that +ghastly cackle. The reality of the thing, whatever it was, could not be +worse than the sound. Had he really seen anything, after all? Was there +some trap about it, some danger to himself? He would have to risk that. + +The distant sight of a human figure far away on the wide space of the +moors, clambering over the granite slabs of a stile, turned his thoughts +to a more perceptible danger. If he could see that man more than half a +mile away, his own figure must be apparent over a long distance in that +clear brown expanse. Perhaps at that very moment the policeman from the +churchtown was prowling about the moors in search of him. His actions at +that lonely house were suspicious enough to attract anybody's attention. +That was an act of imprudence which he had no right to commit. He had not +evaded the keen eyes of the London police to be trapped like a rat by a +rural constable. It was too dangerous for him to remain there. He +determined to spend the rest of the day among the cliffs, and return to +Flint House when night fell. + +He walked away, briskly at first, but with a more laggard step as he +plunged into the shelter of the great rocks, for he had had nothing to eat +since the night before, and was beginning to be conscious of his weakness. +But he strode on, doggedly enough, for more than an hour, until he found +himself at a part of the coast he had not seen before--a theatre of black +rocks, with dark towering walls, and a hissing sea whitening at the base. + +At the foot of these cliffs three jagged conical rocks rose bare and +glistening, the spray from the broken sea dashing far up their sides. As +Charles stood there, looking down, he saw a man appear from the edge of +the furthest one and walk rapidly across the sloping shelf of rock which +spanned the narrow bay near the surface of the sea. His heart leapt within +him as he took in the figure of the man. It was Thalassa. + +As Charles climbed down from the higher cliffs to intercept him, there +came to his mind an imperfectly comprehended fragment of conversation +which he had overheard, between waking and dozing, in the train that +morning. The voices drifted to his dulled hearing from the next +compartment, where some men seemed to be discussing somebody of whom they +stood in dread, somebody who was forever striding along the cliffs with +his eyes fixed on some distant horizon, as though seeking some one. The +object of the mysterious being's quest, if it was a quest, nobody who met +him cared to ask. So much he had gathered. He had heard one of the +speakers say: "I've met un, ever so laate, stalkin' aloong like th' devil. +Tes aw token o' a bad conscience. Tes dreadful to think about. I got owt +o' his way.... I'd as soon speak to th' devil. Iss, aw'd." Charles had +thought nothing of this chatter at the time, but he wondered now if they +were talking of Thalassa. Did the local fisherfolk believe that he had +something to do with the murder, and shunned him like Ishmael in +consequence? + +He looked like Ishmael at that moment, crossing that wild place, earnestly +scanning every nook of those seamed and riven walls, sometimes glancing +stealthily behind him. His preoccupation in this search--if it was a +search--was so great that he never once glanced ahead, and he did not see +Charles until the young man leaped down the last few paces of his slippery +descent and stood plainly forth before him. Thalassa's brown face did not +move a muscle as he looked at him. + +"Thalassa," said Charles sternly, "I have been looking for you." + +Thalassa went on, still scanning the secret places of the towering cliffs +as he walked forward with Charles beside him. When the rugged passage was +crossed, and the narrow wild bay left behind, he spoke. + +"For what?" + +"To have the truth out of you, you infernal scoundrel!" cried the young +man fiercely, his self-control suddenly vanishing at that indifferent +tone. "You know all about the murder of your master; you're going to tell +me, or I'll throw you off these cliffs into the sea." + +He gripped the other's arm as he spoke, but Thalassa tore off his fingers, +and leapt backward against a rock, a knife in his hand, snarling like a +wild beast. + +"Keep off!" he cried. "Keep off, or by Christ, I'll--" He hooked the air +with his knife. + +Charles eyed him across the space, affected almost to nausea by his evil +glance. What a fool he had been to lose his temper! Not in that way was +the truth to be reached. The man before him was not to be terrorized or +intimidated. Sisily's way would have been the best. He wondered whether it +was too late to attempt it. + +"I was hasty, Thalassa," he said. "Come, do not let us quarrel after I +have risked everything to get down here to see you. I have a message for +you--from Sisily." + +The face of the man crouching by the rock changed instantly. He made a +step forward, as if to speak, then cast a gleaming eye of unbelief at his +companion. + +"It's a lie!" he said. "You haven't seen her." + +"I'm speaking the truth," Charles earnestly replied. "Do you think I'd +have come back to Cornwall otherwise, knowing the police are searching for +me?" + +"Ay, you know that, do you?" muttered the other. "They've been watching +Flint House for you. You were a fool to come back here." + +"I'd risk more than that to learn the truth, Thalassa. It's for Sisily's +sake. I've seen her. She's in London, and I've come from her. She gave me +this message to bring to you. She said: 'Tell Thalassa that I ask him to +tell the truth--if he knows it.' The police are looking for her as well as +me." + +"I've heered so." With these words, uttered quickly, Thalassa fell into +the silence of a man on his guard and pondering. Charles approached +nearer. + +"Thalassa," he pleaded, "if you are keeping anything back you must tell me +for Sisily's sake." + +"How do I know you've seen her?" retorted Thalassa, darting a dark crafty +look at him. + +Charles was overwhelmed by a sense of catastrophe. Here was a possibility +which had been overlooked. How was he to instil belief that he spoke the +truth? A moment passed. Thalassa cast another black look at him, and +turned as if to walk away. "I'll keep my word," he muttered to himself. + +The young man's quick ear caught the whispered sentence, and saw the way. +"I'll prove it to you," he said. "You promised Sisily that you'd tell +nobody she was at Flint House to see her father on the night he was +killed. How could I know that unless I'd seen her?" + +"What else?" said Thalassa, facing him with a strange and doubtful glance. + +"You let her in," Charles rapidly continued, "and you waited downstairs +for her. Afterwards you took her back across the moors to catch the +wagonette. It was on the way, near the cross-roads, that Sisily made you +promise not to tell anybody that she'd been there that night." + +"Suppose it's true--what then?" Thalassa's voice was edged with the +craftiest caution. "She's sent you to me to ask for the truth, say you. +'Twould have been safer not. What else is there to say, when she's told +you everything?" He cast a look of savage jealousy at the young man. + +"Much." Charles spoke rapidly, but his glance was despairing. "What +happened while you were away from the house? What sent your wife mad? What +did you find when you returned? You know these things, Thalassa." + +"Happen I did, what good'd come of telling them?" + +"To save Sisily." + +"They'd not help to save her." + +"Do you think she shot her father?" + +Thalassa gave him another dark look, but remained silent. + +"You know she didn't, you hound!" cried Charles, anger flaring up in him +again. "It was you--it must have been you. Listen to me! I know almost +enough to hang you. I was in the house while you were away, and found your +master lying dead in his study, and the key of the door in the passage +outside. Who could have dropped it there except you?" + +"'Tweren't me. 'Twas done afore I got back to the house," answered +Thalassa. + +"What time was it when you left the house with Sisily?" + +"Agone half-past eight: perhaps ten minutes after. She came running +downstairs, her eyes staring and blazing. 'Thalassa, dear Thalassa, for +pity's sake let me out,' she said half-sobbing. 'Oh, what did I come for? +He's wicked--wicked.' Twasn't for me to say anything between father and +daughter, so I just opened the door without a word, and went out with +her." + +"What time did Sisily catch the wagonette?" + +"That's what I don't know. She made me go back when we got to the +cross-roads. She knew as well as I did that the old fool who drives it +wasn't particular as to time, and she worried about my old woman getting +scairt if she found herself alone, and me out. 'Go back to her, Thalassa,' +she said, 'I shall be all right now.' That was just after she'd made me +promise to tell nobody that she'd been to see her father that night. And, +by God, I kept my word. Nobody got anything out of me, though they tried +hard enough. Well, when she sent me back I went, leaving her standing, for +I had my own reason for going. When I looked back after a bit I saw her +standing there by the light of the dirty little lamp above the +cross-roads." + +"Did you see the wagonette on the road?" + +"Not a sign of it. Just her--alone." + +A faint hope died in Charles's breast. Even the drunken irregularity of a +Cornish cabman told against Sisily. But that point was not so immediately +important as Thalassa's story that the murder had been committed during +his absence from Flint House. Although his own experience supported that +supposition, Charles was reluctant to accept a theory which plunged the +events of that night into deeper mystery than ever. + +"Well, go on," he said. "What did you find when you got back?" + +"The house was dark and the door open. The wind was coming in from the sea +sharp enough to take your head off your shoulders, and I thought perhaps +I'd jammed the door without closing it, and it had blowed open with the +wind. But when I got inside I heered something like moaning. I thought +that might be the wind too, for it's for ever screeching up and down the +passages like a devil, specially o' nights. I--" He stopped suddenly, +with a cautious sidelong look at his listener. + +"Yes, yes!" cried Charles. "And what then?" + +Thalassa went on, but a little moodily. + +"I went along to the kitchen and found the old woman lying on the floor, +in a kind of fit or faint, making the queer noise I'd just heered. When I +picked her up she opened her eyes, laughing and crying and making mouths +as she pointed to the ceiling. I could get nothing out of her for a while. +Then she mutters something about a crash upstairs, and goes off into +another fit. I carried her into her bedroom and went upstairs as fast as +my legs would take me. There was a light under his door, but he didn't +answer when I knocked. I tried to open it, but it was locked inside. In a +bit there was a knock downstairs. You know what happened after that." He +lapsed into silence again, with another look at the young man. + +"That was when my aunt and her husband and Dr. Ravenshaw came to the +door?" said Charles, filling in the pause. "But how was it that you told +them that you feared something had happened to your master? Was that pure +guesswork on your part? You hadn't been in the room, you say." + +"I had to tell them something, hadn't I?" retorted the other sullenly. "If +I hadn't told them that, it would a' all come out about me going out with +Miss Sisily, and not into the coal cellar, as I said." + +"It is astonishing that your story should have been so near the truth when +you knew nothing of what had taken place." + +"I did know something. The door was open, the house dark, and she in a fit +on the floor, saying there'd been a crash upstairs. Then his door was +locked, and I couldn't get an answer. Wasn't that enough?" + +"Hardly enough to warrant your saying that you feared your master had been +murdered--unless you expected him to be murdered." + +"I didn't say that," replied Thalassa with unusual quickness. "All I said +was that I was afeered something had happened to him. There was reason for +thinking that. I had to make up my story quick--that part about just going +for Dr. Ravenshaw. That was because I'd still got my hat and topcoat on, +just as I'd come in from the moors, and I wasn't going to break my promise +to Miss Sisily." + +"Did you see the blood under the door when you went up and tried to get +in?" + +"I've told you all there is to tell," was the dogged response. + +"What frightened your wife so much? Do you think she saw the murderer?" + +"That's what I would like to know," responded Thalassa, with a swift +cunning glance. + +He turned his face away and looked across the sea, the brown outline of +his hooked profile more than ever like an effigy carved by savage hands. +Charles scanned him despairingly. The feeling was strong within him that +he was still keeping something back. + +"Thalassa," he said, "you should have told this story before. You have +done wrong in keeping it back." + +"'Twould a' been breaking of my word to Miss Sisily." + +"It was of more importance to clear her. You could have done that if you +had come forward and told the police, as you've just told me, that she +left the house with you before nine o'clock on that night." + +"'Twouldn't a' helped if I had. I found out next day that the wagonette +didn't get to the cross-roads that night till nearly ten o'clock. 'Twas +after half-past nine when it left the inn." + +"What made you find out that?" + +"Do you think I didn't put my wits to work when the damned detective was +trying to put me into it as well as her? I thought it all out then--about +telling the truth. But I saw 'twould a' been no good for her, but only +made matters worse. Who'd a' believed me? There be times when a man can +say too much, so I kept my mouth shut." + +There was so much sense in this that Charles had nothing to say in reply. +In silence they tramped along till they reached the dip of the sea in +which the Moon Rock lay. Here they paused, as if with the mutual feeling +that the time had come for the interview to end. Behind them towered the +cliffs, with Flint House hanging crazily on the summit far above where +they stood. The eye of Charles ranged along the shore to the spot where he +had said good-bye to Sisily not so very long ago, then returned to rest +doubtingly on Thalassa. The old man stood with his hand resting on a giant +rock, his dark eyes fixed on the rim of the waste of grey water where a +weak declining sun hung irresolutely, as though fearing the inevitable +plunge. + +"I'd a' given my right arm to have saved her from this," Charles heard him +mutter. + +Charles found himself looking down at Thalassa's brown muscular arm, +corded with veins, stretched out on the rock by which he stood. It was as +though it had been bared for his inspection, which was not, indeed, the +case. If that arm could save Sisily, it was at her service. But what was +the good of that? What was the good of his own efforts to help her? +Charles had a suffocating feeling of the futility of human effort when +opposed by the malignity of Fate. He asked himself with aching heart what +was to be the outcome of it all? He had failed. What then? It was not +until that moment that he realized how strongly he had been buoyed up by +the false optimism of hope. His consciousness, as though directed by the +power of a devil, was forced to look for the first time upon the hideous +inevitability of the appointed end. + +"No, no! Not that--not that," he shudderingly whispered to himself. + +Neither moved. The minutes passed leaden-footed. It was silent and still +in that wild spot, as if theirs were the only two human hearts beating in +a dead world. It seemed as though neither could bring it upon himself to +terminate the interview. Charles was the first to break the silence. He +spoke like a man coming out of a dream. + +"Did that clock upstairs keep good time?" he asked in a low voice. + +Thalassa turned on him as if not understanding the purport of the +question. + +"It was going shipshape and Bristol fashion in the afternoon. What's that +got to do with it? What does it signify if it was five minutes fast or +slow?" + +The logic of the answer was apparent to Charles, who knew he was only +attempting to pluck something by chance out of the dark maze. But another +and shrewder idea started up in his mind. + +"What was your reason for hurrying back across the moors that night?" + +"Miss Sisily told me to go." + +"But you had another reason--a reason of your own," said Charles, turning +quickly to regard him. "You said so yourself." + +"If I had I've forgotten what it was," said Thalassa with a black look. + +"You cannot have forgotten!" cried Charles. "What was it?" Hope sprang up +in his heart again like a warm flame as he detected something confused and +irresolute in the other's attitude. "Thalassa, you are keeping something +back. You know, or you guess, who the murderer is!" + +"I'm keeping nothing back." + +"You are. I can see it in your face. What is it that you will not tell? +What do you fear?" + +"The gallows--for one thing." + +"You'd sooner see Sisily lose her life on them?" + +This bitter taunt, wrung from the depth of the young man's anguished +heart, had an instantaneous and unexpected effect on his companion. + +"No, no!" he hoarsely cried, "I couldn't a' bear that. But it's nothing to +tell, nothing to help. It was earlier that night, before she came. I was +looking out of the kitchen window, when I thought I saw a rock move. Then +I looked again, and it seemed like a man--though I couldn't see his face." + +"Is that all?" Bitter disappointment rang in Charles's voice. "That might +have been me. I was out on the rocks that night, close to Flint House." + +"'Tweren't you." Thalassa's reply was so low as to be almost inaudible. "I +don't know who it was, but I'll take my Bible oath it weren't you." + +"Who was it then?" Charles asked breathlessly. + +"A dead man, or his spirit. I know that now, though I laughed when +_he_ said it. I know better now." + +He stopped suddenly, like one who has said too much, and looked moodily +out to sea. + +"What do you mean by that?" + +"Never mind what I mean. It's nothing to do with you. A man's a fool when +he gets talking. The tongue trips you up." + +"Thalassa," said Charles solemnly, "if you know anything which might throw +the remotest light on this mystery it is your duty to reveal it." + +"It's easy to talk. But I swore--I swore I would never tell." + +"This is the moment to forget your oath." + +"It's fine to talk--for you. But he'd come back to haunt me, if he knew." +He jerked his thumb in the direction of the distant churchyard where +Robert Turold lay. + +Charles looked at his grim and secret face in despair. "I hope you realize +what you are doing by keeping silence," he said. + +"I'm keeping a still tongue in my head, for one thing." + +"For one thing--yes. For another, you're injuring Sisily--you're doing +more than injure her. You're letting her remain under suspicion of her +father's death, in hiding in London, hunted by the police. Yet she +believed in you. It was she who sent me to you, it was she who said: 'Tell +Thalassa from me to tell the truth, if he knows it.' Is she mistaken in +you, Thalassa? Do you think more of your own skin than her safety?" + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + + +It was a strange story which Charles Turold heard by that grey Cornish +sea--a story touched with the glitter of adventurous fortune in the sombre +setting of a trachytic island, where wine-dark breakers beat monotonously +on a black beach of volcanic sand strewn with driftwood, kelp, dead +shells, and the squirming forms of blindworms tossed up from the bowels of +a dead sea. It was there in the spell of solitude thirty years before that +Robert Turold's soul had yielded to temptation at the beck of his +monstrous ambition. + +That, however, was the end--or what Robert Turold imagined to be the +end--of the story. The listener was first invited to contemplate a scene +in human progress when men gathered from the four corners of the earth and +underwent incredible hardships of hunger, thirst, disease, lived like +beasts and died like vermin for the sake of precious stones in the earth. +Thalassa brought up before the young man's eyes a vivid picture of an +African diamond rush of that period--a corrugated iron settlement of one +straggling street, knee-deep in sand, swarming with vermin and scorpions, +almost waterless, crowded with a mongrel, ever-increasing lot of needy +adventurers brought from all parts of the world by reports of diamonds +which could be picked out with a penknife from the dunes and sandy shingle +which formed the background of the villainous "town." In the great waves +and ridges of sand which stretched everywhere as far as the eye could +reach, runaway scoundrels of every shade of colour wormed on their bellies +with the terrible pertinacity of ants, sweating and groping in that +choking dust for the glittering crystals so rarely found. + +Thalassa had been infected by the diamond fever like so many more. Like +other young men he wanted plenty of money for women and grog--what else, +he asked, could a man get for money that was worth having? In those days +he was a sailor before the mast, lacking the capital for such delights. So +he deserted his timber tramp when she touched at Port Elizabeth, and set +out for the diamond fields with another runaway--the ship's cook, who had +an ambition to have his meals cooked for him for the rest of his life, +instead of cooking meals for other people. + +The fields were far to the north. Thalassa reached them after a terrible +journey through the stony veldt and sandy desert, broken by barren hills. +His companion died of the hardships, and was buried in the desert which +stretched to the wandering course of the Orange River. Thalassa secured +his license and went "prospecting." + +"Dost a' know anything about diamonds--digging for them?" he broke off to +ask. + +Charles Turold shook his head. + +Thalassa lapsed into silence for some moments, his eyes fixed on the sea +hissing among the black wet rocks at his feet, then said-- + +"A man's a fool most of his days, but sometimes he can be such a fool that +the memory 'll come up to mock him when he lays dying. Here was I, +deserting my ship and throwing away a year's wages and a'most my life to +get to these damned fields, thinking to pick up diamonds cut and +glittering like I'd seen them in London shops, when as soon as I'd clapped +eyes on the first diamond I saw dug up I knew that I'd left behind me at +the other end of the world as many rough diamonds as there was in the +whole of that dustbin of a place--diamonds that didn't have to be dug for, +either, only I didn't know them when I saw them." + +His narrowed eye gleamed craftily, a mere pin's point of expression in the +direction of Charles, as though expecting a question. But Charles kept +silence, so he went on with his story. He let it be understood that his +luck on the fields was of the worst possible description--never a solitary +stone came his way. But he had no heart for digging. He was always +thinking of the diamonds in that remote spot which he had ignorantly let +slip from his grasp, like the dog in the fable dropping the substance for +the shadow. He would have gone back to look for them, but he'd spent most +of his little capital in that wild-goose chase, and the miserable remnant +oozed away like water in a place where the barest necessaries of life cost +fabulous prices. Soon he became stranded, practically penniless. + +It was this precarious moment of his fortunes which his star (his evil +star, he insisted on that) selected to bring him into juxtaposition with +the man whose life was to be inexorably mingled with his own from that +time henceforward. The actual meeting place was a tin-roofed grog shanty +kept by a giant Kaffir woman and a sore-eyed degenerate white man, whose +subjection to his black paramour had earned for him among the blacks on +the field the terrible sobriquet of "White Harry." Here, one night, +Thalassa sat drinking bad beer and planning impossible schemes for +returning to his diamonds at the other end of the world. The place was +empty of other customers. The Kaffir woman slumbered behind the flimsy +planking of the bar, and "White Harry" sat on the counter scraping tunes +out of a little fiddle. Thalassa remembered the tune he was +playing--"Annie Laurie." Upon this scene there entered two young men, +Englishmen. Thalassa discerned that at once by the cut of their jib. +Besides, they ordered Bass beer. Who else but Englishmen would order Bass +beer at five shillings a bottle in a God-forsaken place like that? + +"_He_ was one of them." Thalassa moved his hand vaguely in the +direction of St. Fair churchyard. "Smart and lively he was then--not like +what he was afore he died. I took a fancy to him as soon as I set my eyes +on him. He was a man in those days, and I knowed a man when I saw 'un. I +didn't care so much for the looks of the other 'un--Remington was his +name, as I heered afterwards. Well enough for some tastes, but too much of +the God Almighty Englishman about him to suit me. A handsome chap he was, +this Remington, I'm bound to say--young and slim, wi' a pink face like a +girl's, not a hair on it, and lookin' as though he might a' turned out of +a bandbox. Him--Turold--had a moustache, and his face was a dark 'un, but +I liked him for all his black looks--though not so black in those days, +either. More eager like." + +Charles Turold found himself trying to picture Robert Turold in the part +of a smart lively young fellow, and failing utterly. But Time took the +smartness out of a man in less than thirty years. It had also taken the +liveliness out of Robert Turold for good and all. + +Thalassa went on with his story. The young men were served with their beer +at five shillings a bottle, and sat down in a corner to drink it. They +talked as they sipped, and Thalassa listened. His original idea that they +were young men of wealth (because of the Bass) was soon dispersed by the +trend of their conversation. They had gone out from England to make their +fortunes on the fields, but had come a cropper like himself, and were +discussing what they'd do next. The fair-haired one, Remington, was all +for getting back to England while they had any money left, but Turold was +dead against it. There were plenty of diamonds to be found, and he was +going to have some of them. He'd been talking to a man who was just back +from the interior with a story of a river beach full of diamonds, and he +was fitting up an expedition to go back and get them. Turold wanted to +join in, but Remington said he'd heard too many stories of diamonds to be +picked up for the asking. Had he forgotten about the cursed Jew who got a +hundred pounds out of them? Turold said this was different--the man had +brought back a little bottleful of diamonds. Remington replied with a +sneer about "salting." They argued. "Suppose we dropped the last of our +money?" Remington asked. "No worse than crawling back to England like +whipped curs, poorer than we set out," said the other. Remington said he +didn't want to go back to England like that, but he'd sooner face it than +run the risk of being stranded in that hell of a place. Turold answered he +was not going back till he'd made a fortune. He said (Thalassa remembered +his exact words): "I don't care how I do it, Remington, but I will do +it--mark my words." "Show me a more sensible plan than this, and I'm with +you," Remington had replied. + +It was at this stage that Thalassa was seized with an inclination to +thrust himself into the dialogue. Striving to explain his reasons at that +distance of time, he said it was Robert Turold's last remark which really +decided him--did the trick, as he phrased it. Actually it must have been a +prompt recognition of the kinship between two lawless souls. + +He left his seat and went across to where the two young Englishmen were +earnestly talking, unaware that they had been overheard. He approached +them as one shipwrecked sailor might approach two other castaways marooned +on the same rock. They all wanted money, and they all wanted to get away +from that God-forsaken hole. Diamonds they were after? Well, he could take +them to a place at the other end of the world where there were enough +diamonds in the rough to make them all rich for life. + +After the first surprise at his interruption they heard him in silence, +and then plied him with questions. Where were these diamonds? In a +volcanic island in the South Pacific. Where about? They couldn't expect +him to tell them that. It was Robert Turold (Thalassa seemed to have +addressed himself principally to him) who asked him how he knew that the +diamonds were still there. Thalassa's reply was that they were buried in a +big box, and the island was out of the run of ships. What sort of a big +box? Turold had asked. Thalassa replied (perhaps reluctantly) that the box +was "a kind of a coffin," and that there was a dead man inside of it as +well as the diamonds, but he, at all events, was not likely to run off +with them. + +Remington and Turold were startled by this answer, and conferred hastily +apart. They returned to ask more questions. They wanted to know how the +body and the diamonds had got there in the first instance, but that was a +story which Thalassa refused to reveal. That had nothing to do with it, he +said. The ship which had buried the man there had gone down afterwards +with all hands, so nobody knew about the diamonds except him. + +After that Remington became the chief questioner, Robert Turold merely +looking on, his dark eyes frequently meeting Thalassa's. It seemed as +though he must have realized that these last replies concealed a story +better left unprobed. But Remington wanted to know why Thalassa had come +searching for diamonds in that part of the world when he knew of plenty in +another, and Thalassa had replied, in all simplicity, that it was because +the Almighty had endowed him with more muscles than brains, and he hadn't +recognized the worth of the stones at the time. In fact, he didn't know +that they were diamonds. His experience on the fields had improved his +knowledge in that respect, and he now knew that he had left behind him on +the lonely island enough diamonds in the rough to make them all rich--two +bottlesful, and some in a leather bag, where the dead man also kept one of +those digging licenses which the damned German officials sold you--what +did they call it? Prospector's license--a _schurfschein_? said +Remington. Yes, that was it. He knew it again as soon as he got one on the +fields. + +Turold and Remington again talked together in whispers, and then Turold +asked Thalassa how he proposed to get the diamonds. Thalassa had his plan +ready. They must get down to the Cape and get a boat to Sydney from +Capetown. That was the jumping-off place. From Sydney they were to take a +boat to--another place. The island was a bare two days' sail from the +"other place," and Thalassa proposed to hire a cutter on the mainland and +sail over to it. He was no navigator, but he could find his way back to +that island again at any time. + +Turold seemed inclined to agree, but Remington put in another of his sharp +questions. Why did he want to bring two strangers into the business? What +was to prevent him getting the diamonds on his own account, without +sharing with anybody? Thalassa replied that he had no money to finance the +expedition, and even if he got the diamonds they'd be no use to him. How +could a rough seaman like himself, who could hardly write his own name, +turn the stones into the large sum of money they represented? That was an +enterprise which called for civilized qualities of education and address +which he did not possess. From his standpoint it was an even deal between +them. They were to supply the money and intelligence in return for his +knowledge, and they would share and share alike. + +It was Robert Turold who ultimately settled the decision--winning over the +reluctant Remington with words which Thalassa had never forgotten. He also +recognized the risk, but he thought it was well worth taking. It seemed +that the two had a little more than £200 left between them--just about +enough to carry the thing through. What was the use of returning to +England with that paltry sum, he had asked. He spoke of a girl--some girl +who was waiting in England for Remington while he made his fortune abroad. +Was he going to go back to her penniless? "Even if this doesn't turn out +right," he went on, "we'll have reached another part of the world, with a +fresh chance of making money, instead of being poor in England, that +breeding-ground for tame rabbits, where poverty is the unforgiveable sin." +"I liked him for those words," said Thalassa, "for they came from a man +whose thoughts were after the style of my own. 'Twas they decided the +other chap, and next morning we set out for Capetown. From there we got +passages in a cargo boat for Sydney." + +Charles found it easier to visualize this picture than the former. The +departure of the three upon such a wild romantic venture had in its +elements all the audacity, greed, and splendour of youth, and he also was +young. + +Thalassa went on with his story. + +During the voyage to Sydney, Robert Turold used to talk to him on deck at +nights after Remington had gone to his bunk. It was in these solitary deck +tramps under glittering stars that Thalassa first heard from the other's +lips of the Turrald title: the title for which the fortune he was seeking +was merely a stepping stone--the means to obtain it. "Night after night he +talked of nothing else," said Thalassa, "and I knew he would do what he +wanted to do." It was easy to gather from his story that his original +admiration for Robert Turold soon grew into a deeper and stronger feeling. +There was something in the dead man's masterful ambitious character which +exercised a reluctantly conceded but undoubted fascination upon his +companion's fierce spirit. + +Such were their relations when they reached Sydney and set out on a +further voyage to the other place which Thalassa was so reluctant to name. +On arriving at the "other place" they made their way to its east coast, +which was the starting point of their journey to the island. From a brown +man living on the coast Thalassa hired a smart little ketch which the +three of them could easily handle, and in this they embarked for the +island from a beach which curved like a white tusk around a blue bay. + +They did not reach the island for six days--through baffling winds, and +not because they did not steer a right course. As Thalassa had said, there +was no difficulty in finding it, for they had only been one day at sea +when the smouldering smoke of the distant volcanic cone came into vision, +making an unholy mark against the clear sky which they never lost again. +Gradually they beat nearer until they made it--a circular ragged high +ridge jutting abruptly from a deep sullen sea, with a red glow showing +fitfully in the smoke of the summit. + +There was an outer reef, but Thalassa knew the passage, and steered the +ketch through a tortuous channel above sunken needle-pointed rocks to a +little sheltered harbour inshore. Here they made the ketch fast, and +landed on a beach of volcanic violet, where they sometimes sank knee deep +into sulphuric water, and felt squirming sea things squelch beneath their +tread. Above this margin of violet-black sand, deposits of volcanic rock +and lava rose almost perpendicularly, enclosing the central cone in a kind +of amphitheatre. + +The stones they had travelled so far to obtain were there waiting for +them. Thalassa hurried over that part of the story, narrating it in barest +outline with suspicious glances directed at his listener's intent face. +Apparently he led his companions to the spot as soon as they landed--up a +path through a gap in the crater wall, across a furrowed slope all +a-quake, where jets of steam issued from gurgling fissures in snaky +spirals. On the other side of this dreary waste Thalassa led the way +across a ledge to firmer ground and a grave. Charles gathered that the +occupant of the grave had been coffined in a seaman's chest in his +clothes: "There he was, with his bottles of diamonds in his coat pockets, +and more in his leather bag in his breast pocket, just as I left him +twelve months afore to go to the other end of the world looking for what +I'd buried." A grim smile curved Thalassa's face as he uttered these +words; the idea seemed to contain elements of humour for him. + +"They were diamonds, then?" said Charles curiously. + +"Ay; they were diamonds right enough. Him--Turold--said they were diamonds +as soon as he uncorked one of the bottles and poured a few into the palm +of his hand. There was some rare big ones in one of the bottles--enough to +have brought all those fools tumbling out of Africa if they'd know of +them. From some papers they found on the chap Turold said he'd must a-been +prospecting in nigh every part of the world." + +"How did he come to be buried there with his diamonds, in that lonely +spot?" asked Charles wonderingly. + +"He was a passenger, and died as we was passing the island. 'Twas the +skipper's fancy to give him a land burial. But that doesn't matter a +dump--it's outside the story." He turned his eyes away from Charles. + +Dusk had fallen before they finished their search, and Thalassa would not +undertake the risk of threading the boat out from the tortuous reef +passage in the darkness. They decided to camp on the island for the night, +preferring the sulphur-impregnated air ("A lighted match would blaze and +fizzle in it like a torch," Thalassa declared) to the cramped discomfort +of their little craft. They brought some food ashore, and made a flimsy +sort of camp above high water, at the foot of the encircling walls of the +crater. There they had their supper, and there, as they lounged smoking, +Remington in an evil moment for himself suggested that they should sort +the diamonds into three heaps--share and share alike. Robert Turold +agreed, and they emptied the stones out of the bottles and leather bag +into a single heap. Remington took one bottle and Robert Turold another; +to Thalassa fell the empty bag. As the stones were sorted one was to be +placed in each receptacle until the tally ran out. + +It must have been a strange spectacle--so strange that it made a lasting +impression on the least imaginative mind of the three, for he tried in his +rude way to reproduce it on that Cornish beach after the lapse of thirty +long years. He threw bits of rock on the sand to indicate the positions in +which they had sat. From his description Charles pictured the scene +adequately enough: the violet-black beach, exhaling sulphuric vapours, the +yellow-grey volcanic rocks, the gurgling ebullitions of a geyser throwing +off volumes of smoke high above them, and the faces of the three men +(ruddy in the fire-glow, white in the moonlight) intent on the division of +the heap of dull stones scattered on a flat rock between them. Thalassa +remembered all these things; he remembered also how startled they were, +the three of them, at the unexpected sound of a kind of throaty chuckle +near by, and turned in affright to see a large bird regarding them from +the shadow of the rocks--a sea bird with rounded wings, light-coloured +plumage, and curiously staring eyes above a yellow beak. When it saw it +was observed it vanished swiftly seaward in noiseless flight. + +The division, commenced good-humouredly enough, soon developed the +elements of a gamble between Robert Turold and Remington. They forgot +Thalassa's existence as they argued and disputed over the allotment of +certain stones. The foot or so of flat rock became the circumference of +their thoughts, ambitions, and passions--their world for the time being. +In that sordid drama of greed Thalassa seemed to have comported himself +with greater dignity than his two superiors by birth and education. He +even took it upon himself to reason with them on their folly. Perhaps he +knew from his own seamy experience of life what such things developed +into. At all events, he urged his companions to defer the division until +they returned to civilization and could get the spoils appraised by eyes +expert in the knowledge of precious stones. But they would not listen, so, +not liking the look of things, he withdrew a little distance off and +watched them, leaning against a rock. That was his tacit admission (so +Charles interpreted this action) that he was on Robert Turold's side, and +felt that his own interests were identical with those of the master mind. +The two, left to themselves, wrangled more fiercely than ever. There were +unpleasant taunts and mutual revilings. The listener by the rock learnt +definitely what he had previously suspected--that there was bitter blood +and bad feeling between the two men, buried for a time, but now revived +with a savageness which revealed the hollowness of their supposed +reconciliation. It was about a girl, some girl in England with whom they +had both been in love. Thalassa gathered that Remington had left England +as the favoured suitor. He had (in Thalassa's words) "cut Turold out." + +Charles Turold could not forbear a faint exclamation of astonishment. His +brain reeled in trying to imagine the austere figure of Robert Turold +squabbling over a girl and some diamonds on a lonely island in the South +Pacific. He was too amazed at the moment to see the implications of this +part of the story. + +"They went on snarling and showing their teeth, but not biting," continued +Thalassa, "sorting out the little stones all right, but quarrelling over +the bigger. There was two--the biggest in the bunch by far--which they +kept putting aside because they couldn't agree about the sharing of them. +At last it came about that there was only these two big 'uns left, lying +like two beans on the bit o' rock, side by side. Before I could guess what +was likely to happen Turold grabbed them up quick, and put them in his +bottle. 'These two are mine, Thalassa's and mine,' he said. 'You've had +your share, Remington.' Remington sprang from the rock quick as a snake. +'One's mine,' he said. But Turold was up as quick. 'It's not for you,' he +says, with his dark smile. 'We'll put it against the girl you filched from +me, and call it an even deal. What does a happy lover want with diamonds?' +'Damn you!' cries the other, and hit him in the face. They both went down, +scuffling and panting in the sand. I stood where I was, for I weren't +going to come between them till I saw how it was going to be. Presently I +could see that Remington was stronger, and that Turold was getting the +worst of it. After a bit Turold called out, 'Thalassa!' + +"I ran down at that fast enough, and got out my knife as I went. They'd +slipped down the sloping beach half-way to the sea, writhing like a couple +of the blind-worms that I kept stepping on, going over and over so quick +that I couldn't do anything at first. But one of them was sobbing in his +breath as though he was pretty well finished, and I guessed it was Turold. +Then I saw Remington's face on top, and before they could swing round +again I got a good stroke in his neck where it gleamed white in the +moonlight. The blood jumped out warm on my hand, and he rolled over so +quick that I thought I had killed him. But as I stooped over him he was up +like a flash, staggering up the steep beach, his feet plopping and sucking +in the water underneath. Turold was on his feet by that time, breathing +hard, getting back his breath. 'After him--quick!' he says to me, his face +black with rage--'he's got the diamonds.' + +"I ran after him up the beach, but he heard me coming and had the start of +me. He had firm ground under him by then, and was tearing along the rocks +towards the path I'd taken them that afternoon, turning round now and +again to look back, the blood glistening in the moonlight on his white +face. There we was--him going higher and higher, me after him, and Turold +standing below on the beach, staring up at the two of us. + +"Run my best, I couldn't get near him. I suppose he thought he was done +for if I caught him, and by that time my blood was pretty well up. I had +one pull over him--I knew the island, and he didn't. The path he was +taking led to the top of the island, where the crater was, with a kind of +wall of rocks round it. But before you came to that there was a great hole +which fell down God Almighty knows how deep, and was supposed to have been +another volcano at some time or other. This hole was divided into two by a +narrow ridge running right across it, and the path Remington was on took +him straight to the edge. So he'd either got to go across this ridge when +he come to it or turn back and be caught. + +"He was a long way ahead when he come to it, but he never stopped. He just +gave one glance down at me, and went on to the ridge. I watched him +balancing along it like a man on a tight rope, mounting higher and higher, +for the ridge went up steep on the far side. Thinks I to myself, 'You're a +plucky one,' then all of a sudden I heard a shout from below, and looked +down. There stood Turold, waving me out of the way. He'd been to the boat +for a gun we'd brought with us, and was taking aim at Remington. The next +thing I saw was Remington turning round on the ledge to come back to my +side, having found out, I suppose, that the ridge would take him into the +crater. Just as he turned I heard the shot. It must have winged Remington +pretty bad, because he went tumbling off the ridge head first, like a man +taking a dive into the water. I turned and climbed down to where I'd left +Turold. His face was all aglow with rage. 'The infernal scoundrel!' he +said, then--'Did you get the diamonds?' 'How was I to get them when I +never caught him?' I said. 'Then we'll get them off his body in the +morning,' he said in a low tone. 'You'll never do that,' says I. He asks +me why not, turning on me a face as savage as a dog's. 'Because whichever +side he's dropped he's safe from us,' I said. 'There's a hole that no +man's ever seen the bottom of on one side of the ridge, and on the other a +stinking lake of green boiling sulphur. When you shot him you sent him +into one or the other, so you can say good-bye to him and the diamonds.' +'Oh!' he cries, when he heard that--just like that; then after a bit he +points up the path, and asks me to go back and have a look for him. I went +back as far as the ridge. The moon was clear as day, shining on that +infernal green lake on the one side, and into the deep hole on the other. +The lake was bubbling and stewing in the moonlight like a witchpot, and +the other side of the ridge was just black emptiness, and there was no +sign of Remington--I knowed there couldn't be. Back I went again, and as I +was climbing down the path to where Turold was standing I saw something +glinting in the black sand at his feet, and when I got there I picked up +the bottle of diamonds where Remington must have dropped them when +struggling with Turold. I gave them to Turold. 'And now,' says I, 'let's +get out of here. The moon's bright enough to let me find my way through +the reefs, and this island ain't a healthy place to stay too long on. I +know it, and you don't.' He was glad enough to follow me to the boat, and +we got through on a good flowing tide." + +Thalassa stopped abruptly, as though to leave on his listener's mind an +impression of that furtive departure on a dark whispering sea beneath a +blood-red moon. + +"You got back to the mainland?" queried Charles, as he remained silent. + +"Ay--and to England. Afore we got there Turold had persuaded himself that +Remington slipped off the ridge accidental, and that he missed him when he +fired." + +"Perhaps his conscience pricked him. Go on." + +"There's nowt much more to tell. Turold got me my share of the money, and +then we parted. He offered to invest it for me, but I wasn't going to +trust no banks--not I. It took me two years to waste it on gambling and +women. Then I took to sea again. That lasted another year. Then I found +myself in 'Frisco, where I shipped in a four-masted barque and come home +round the Horn. I was pretty sick of the sea after two bad goes of +rheumatic fever, so I made up my mind to hunt up Turold. I found him after +a while. He didn't seem best pleased to see me at first, but he said I +could stay till he had time to think out what he could do for me. That was +the beginning of it. We never parted again, him and me, until he was +carried out of yon house feet first. We got used to each other's ways, and +I was worth all he paid me because I saved him worry and expense. He was +all for saving, in those days. Married he was too, to a little timid thing +of a girl who was in fear and trembling of him. 'Twas a black day for her +when she married that headstrong stubborn devil. 'Mr.' Thalassa she always +called me, poor woman. I married a maid-servant they had. That was +Turold's idea--he thought by that way he could get his household looked +after very cheaply by the pair of us. I wasn't keen on marrying, but it +didn't make much odds one way or the other, for no living woman, wife or +no wife, would have kept me in England if I'd wanted to get out. As it +happened, I never did. I stayed on, going from place to place where they +went--where Turold took us." + +"Whom did my uncle marry?" asked Charles. + +"You might a' guessed that. 'Twas the girl t'other had cut him out of. I +thought the masterful devil'd get her when Remington was out of the way, +but I asked him once straight out, and he said yes, it was the same girl. +She was a pretty timid little thing in those days, but I don't know why +they was both so mad after her. However, there it was." + +"And do you think that after all these years, Remington is really alive?" +said Charles, looking at him earnestly. "Do you think it was he who +murdered my uncle?" + +"Happen maybe, happen not. The night he was killed I found him in a rare +funk in his room. He rang his bell like a fury, and when I went up he +swore he heard the footsteps of Remington just afore, running round the +rocks outside of Flint House just as he heard him pattering along the +rocks on the island that night. I didn't believe 'un then, but I'm not so +sure since. If he's come back to get Turold it's for sure he's still +somewhere about, waiting his chance to get me as well. I'm keeping my eye +open for 'un--walked the coast for miles, I have, looking for him. He +won't take me unawares, same as Turold." His eyes searched the cliffs +behind them. + +"You may not recognize him if you meet him. It is thirty years since you +saw him. A man changes a lot in thirty years." + +"That's true, 'tis a thought which never crossed my mind." Thalassa's look +was troubled. + +"As you've told me this story you'd better leave it in my hands, and not +go looking for anybody with that knife of yours." + +"What be you going to do?" + +"I must go to Scotland Yard and tell them your story. It's the only +chance." + +"And get me into trouble?" + +"There's not much fear of that. In any case, you must stand that, for +Sisily's sake." + +Thalassa nodded his acquiescence. "Better be careful yersel' getting back +to London. The police here is watching for you. They've been a' Flint +House more than once, looking for both of you." + +"It's a risk I must take, nevertheless," said the young man, rising from +his seat as he spoke. "It's for Sisily's sake. Good-bye, Thalassa, and +thank you for what you've told me." + +Thalassa did not reply or offer to accompany him. From his seat on the +rocks he followed Charles's ascent up the narrow path with contemplative +eyes. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX + + +Barrant returned to London in the mental disposition of a man who sees an +elaborate theory thrown into the melting-pot by an unexpected turn of +events. The humbling thought was that he had allowed a second fish to +glide through his hands without even suspecting that it was on his line. +He had never remotely connected Charles Turold with the murder until Mr. +Brimsdown had imparted Mrs. Brierly's disclosure to him. He had acted +promptly enough on that piece of information, but once again he was too +late. + +Austin Turold might have felt reassured if he had known how little his +share in the events of that night occupied Barrant's mind during their +last interview. The complexion Austin's conduct bore to the detective's +reflection was that of a father who had intentionally misled the power of +authority in order to shield his son. The law took a serious view of that +offence, but it was a matter which could be dealt with at leisure in +Austin's case. By his brother's death Austin Turold had become a man of +property and standing. It was the drawback of his wealth that he could not +disappear like his son. He was to be found when wanted. The main thing +just then was to catch the son, or the girl--or both. Barrant went back to +London for that purpose. + +As the days slipped away without that end being achieved he became worried +and perplexed. His own position was an unenviable one, and his thoughts +were far from pleasant. He felt that he had failed badly, and that his +standing with his superiors in Scotland Yard was under a cloud in +consequence. But he could not see where he had actually been at fault. It +was such a damned amazing case. In most crimes the trouble was to find +sufficient clues, but in this case there were too many. And the inferences +pointed different ways. That was the trouble. He was not even sure that in +this latest discovery, so annoyingly belated, he had reached the ultimate +solution of the facts. It was not that the theory of these two young +people committing murder for love was too cynical for belief. He had +encountered more incredible things than that in his professional career. +Life was a cynical business, and youth could be brutal in pursuit of its +aims, especially when the aim was passion, as it usually was. In his +experience youth and age were the dangerous periods--youth, because it +knew nothing of life, and age because it knew too much. There were fewer +surprises in middle-age. That was the period of responsibility--when +humanity clung to the ordered way with the painful rectitude of a +procession of laden ants toiling up a hill. Youth was not like that--nor +age. + +No, it was not that. His difficulty was to fit all the circumstances into +any compact theory of the case. Try as he would, there were always some +loose ends left over, some elements of uncertainty which left him +perplexed. He fashioned a new view of the murder, with Charles Turold as +the principal figure in it--the actual murderer. He assumed that Charles +and Sisily had gone to Flint House that night to prevent the truth about +Sisily's birth becoming known. The assertion of her illegitimacy rested +upon her father's bare statement, but his lawyer was convinced he would +not have made the statement without having the proofs in his possession. +These proofs had not been found. Very well. What inference was to be drawn +from that? Sisily knew that they were kept in the clock-case, and pointed +out the hiding place to her lover. In a struggle for their possession +Robert Turold was shot down, or he might have been shot first and +staggered to the clock afterwards to see if they had been stolen. Either +supposition accounted for the fallen clock, and fitted in with nearly all +the known facts of the murder. + +Nearly all, but not all! In face of Mrs. Brierly's disclosure it seemed a +condition precedent to the elucidation of the mystery to substitute +Charles Turold for Thalassa as the person whose undisciplined love for +Sisily had led him to shoot her father to shield her name. Nor was it +incredible to suppose that he had remained in Cornwall to cover her flight +in the hope of diverting suspicion from her. But the loose end in the +theory was Thalassa's share in that night's events, and his dogged silence +since under strong suspicion. + +Thalassa knew more than he had yet revealed, but what did he know? What +was his share in the business? It was difficult to say. Barrant was unable +to accept the assumption that three people were concerned in the murder. +That idea, if not impossible, was at least contrary to reason. But if it +was excluded, how was the silence of Thalassa to be explained? Was he +afraid? It was as difficult to associate that quality with him as with an +eagle or beast of prey. + +And the theory failed to explain the reason for Robert Turold's frantic +letter to his lawyer on the night of the murder. That was another loose +end. + +What a case! It was an abnormal and sinister mystery in any light, with no +absolute or demonstrative certainty of proof by any of its circumstances, +however regarded. The effect of its perplexing clues distorted the +imagination, outraged the sense of possibility and experience. To reach +conclusiveness in it seemed as impossible as an attempt to scale an +unending staircase in a nightmare. The facts were there, but they were +inexplicable, or at least they stared at him with the aspect of many +faces. + +As he weighed these doubts he found his thoughts reverting with increasing +frequency to the hood clock in Robert Turold's study and the question of +its connection with the crime. He pondered over the point with the nervous +anxiety of a puzzled brain, and it seemed to him now that he had not +devoted as much investigation to this peculiar clue as it deserved. He +recalled Mr. Brimsdown's conversation on the matter. He remembered that he +had been struck at the time by the penetration of his remarks about the +clock, and while not accepting his fantastic theory, had determined to +give more careful thought to the point. But Mrs. Brierly's disclosure put +the idea out of his head. + +It recurred to him with renewed force when he found himself in Exeter +nearly a fortnight later on another case. It was a good opportunity to go +on to Cornwall, and he took it. His business completed, he caught the +early train, and in due time arrived at Penzance. With an obscure instinct +for solitude he hastened through the town and struck out across the moors. + +The afternoon was waning when he reached Flint House and pulled the +old-fashioned bell-handle of the weatherbeaten door. There was no reply, +and a second ring passed disregarded. That was disconcerting and +unexpected. He wondered whether Thalassa and his wife had left the place. +Then he noticed that the door was merely closed and not shut. He lifted +the heavy iron knocker, and knocked loudly. The repeated knocking sent the +door flying open, and Barrant found himself looking into an empty hall. +Half-way down a pair of curtains stirred slightly and parted suddenly, +revealing a narrower passage which led to the door of the kitchen. The +curtains streamed horizontally, twisting and coiling like snakes. Barrant +stepped quickly inside and closed the door. The curtains fell together +again. + +There was something so startling in this action of the wind that Barrant +stood motionless, looking round him. The cold current of air he had +admitted died away in the draughty passages with queer gasping noises, +like a wind strangled. Then there was the most absolute silence. The +curtains hung perpendicular, as thickly motionless as blankets. Barrant +noticed that the hallstand and a chair beside it were thick with dust. +Evidently the house was empty. + +Turning first to make quite sure that the front door was securely shut, he +took his way upstairs to Robert Turold's study. + +A point of light, falling through the shattered panel of the closed door, +pierced the vague gloom of the passage and hovered on the door of the +bedroom opposite--the room into which the dead man had been carried. + +Barrant entered the study and looked around him. It was intolerably dirty +and neglected; everything was covered with a thick grey dust. Barrant +walked over to the clock and regarded it attentively. + +What a rascally fat face that moon had! It must have seen some queer +sights in old houses during its two hundred years of life. Strange that +those old clockmakers could make clocks to last so long, but couldn't keep +their own life-springs running half the time! The moral verse was curious +enough. Why should a man who spent half his lifetime putting together a +clock presume to tell his fellow creatures to make the most of the passing +hour? + +His reflections took a more practical turn. The clock was the sole witness +to the time of the murder. There were two other clocks in Flint House, but +nobody had thought of looking at them when the crime was discovered. +Barrant regarded that as a regrettable oversight. It was always important +to know the exact time when a murder was committed. Thalassa said that the +hood clock was going and kept excellent time, but the value of that +secondary testimony was impaired by the fact that Thalassa might not be +telling the truth. On the other hand, there was certain presumptive +evidence which suggested that he was. It was a proved fact that Mr. and +Mrs. Pendleton and Dr. Ravenshaw left the doctor's house in a motor-car +for Flint House not later than half-past nine on the night of the murder. +Assuming that they covered the journey across the moors in five or six +minutes and occupied another five minutes in getting upstairs and breaking +in the door, the testimony of the hood clock seemed correct, because Dr. +Ravenshaw said death had just taken place, and he and the doctor who made +the post-mortem examination were both agreed that Robert Turold could not +have lived many minutes after he was shot. Therefore the presumptive +evidence seemed to determine the time of death accurately enough. + +But that was only a minor phase of the mystery. The real problem was the +hidden connection between the clock and the murder. What had brought the +clock down, and why had Robert Turold fallen almost on top of it, his +outstretched hands resting on the dial? The complete elucidation of the +mystery lay behind the obscurity in which these two points were shrouded. +To find the answer to them was the surest and quickest way of reconciling +all the contradictory facts of the case. But Barrant racked his brains for +the reason in vain. + +He examined the room. There was a leather-topped writing-table with +drawers, several cabinets filled with manuscripts and papers, some walnut +chairs with carved legs, and a tall deep bookcase filled with +dreary-looking books. His eyes wandered over the titles of the volumes. +They also belonged to a bygone period--a melancholy accumulation of works +as dead as their writers. Two whole shelves were occupied with the numbers +of a forgotten periodical which claimed to give "ample details of the +unhappy difference between Queen Caroline of Great Britain and her consort +George the Fourth." Barrant wondered idly why human nature was always so +interested in the washing of dirty linen. Above these was ranged a row of +published sermons. Barrant's eye roamed higher and fell on a fat sturdy +volume wedged in between some slimmer books. The title of this book was +"Clocks of All Periods." Clocks! + +He reached for the volume and placed it on the table. A cursory glance +through the pages conveyed the suggestion that it contained more +information about clocks than was worth acquiring or writing down. There +was a chapter on water clocks, to begin with: "Known to the Egyptians and +the Holy Land." Barrant turned the leaves. "The Ancient Chinese used a +smouldering wick as timekeeper." Barrant shook his head impatiently. "King +Alfred's supposed device of measuring Time by Candles--a Myth." Would to +heaven his invention of juries was a myth, too. Scotland Yard would get on +much better without them. "A Lamp-clock was another Simple and Ingenious +Design." How intolerably long-winded the writer was. What had he to say +about hood clocks? "Very few of the Early Clocks had Dials. The Device was +generally a Mechanical Figure which struck the Hour on a Bell." Evidently +the forerunner of the devilish alarum clock. "Early clockmakers--Old +English monks as Clockmakers." The pages flowed rapidly through Barrant's +fingers. "Introduction of Minute Hand Marks--Period of Clocks Showing +Tides--Longfaced Clocks." Ah, here it was at last--"Hood Clocks." + +He began to read the chapter with interest, but as he was about to turn +the first page the silence of the room was broken by a faint cackling +laugh--an elfin sound which died away instantly. He looked up, startled. +His surprise was not lessened at the sight of Mrs. Thalassa watching him +from the open doorway. She entered on tiptoe, with a strange air of +caution, examining him with restless eyes. + +"I heard you," she mumbled. "I saw you go upstairs. Mr. Thalassa was out, +and I was afraid to go to the door. I've been playing patience, and it +won't come out." + +She showed her apron full of small cards. She placed them on the table, +and arranged them in rows. + +A new idea came into Barrant's mind as he looked at her. If the poor +creature had recovered sufficient wits to take to her cards again she +might be coaxed to recall what she had seen on the night of the murder. He +drew near her. "Can I help you?" he said. + +She nodded sideways at him like a child--a child with withered face and +grey hair. + +Together they bent over the cards. A gull flashed past the window with a +scream, as though it had seen them and was repelled at the strange sight. + +"Only kings can go into vacant spaces," murmured Barrant's companion, +intent on the game. + +The result of the game was inconclusive. A king remained surrounded by +small cards, like a real monarch overwhelmed by the rabble on May Day. +Mrs. Thalassa's eyes strayed mournfully over the rows, then she gathered +up the cards and shuffled them again. + +"Do you know any other games of patience?" Barrant asked. + +She shook her head. + +"Then this is the game you were playing on that night?" + +"What night?" she whispered. + +"The night Mr. Turold was killed." + +"I don't want to think of that--it frightens me." + +She remembered, then! Her face went grey, but her eyes were alert, +watching his. + +"Listen to me"--he spoke very gently--"I want to help you get rid of your +fear and terror, but to do so I must talk to you about that night. Do you +understand?" + +The kindness in his voice seemed to reach her feeble consciousness, and +she looked at him earnestly. + +"Will you try and recollect?" + +She seemed to search his eyes for courage, and gave a trembling nod. + +"What time was it when you heard the crash upstairs? Think well." + +She seemed to make an effort to remember. "I don't know," she said at +last. + +"Think again. You were playing patience--the game you have just shown me?" + +Her eyes turned to the cards on the table. "Yes," she said. + +"What time did you commence--can you think?" + +She shook her head. "I seem to remember it was half-past eight by the +kitchen clock when I started my last game. I was alone in the kitchen +then. The game was just coming out when I heard a crash--" + +She broke off suddenly with a painful sigh and a frightened glance at the +hood clock on the wall. + +"One game!" Barrant glanced at his watch with, an air of mistrust. "You +mean two, don't you?" + +Her eyes returned to his. She shook her head with a rapid tremulous +motion. "No!" she exclaimed excitedly. "One, only one!" + +Barrant cast another glance at his watch, which he Still held in his hand. +"You are quite sure you did not play two?" he persisted, with a puzzled +glance. + +"No, no--one!" She sprang to her feet excitedly. + +"Very well--one," acquiesced Barrant soothingly. "One. Go on." + +But his effort to calm her came too late. She cast a wild and fearful +glance at the wall behind her, as if there was something there which +frightened her. + +"How it rings--how it rings!" Her indistinct utterance grew louder. "Yes, +Jasper, I hear. Yes, sir, I'm coming. Where's the supper tray?" + +"Don't be afraid, Mrs. Thalassa," said Barrant, approaching her, but she +backed hurriedly away towards the door. + +"Coming with the supper tray--coming with the supper tray.... What's that? +Ah-h-h-h-h!" + +Her disjointed mutterings ended in a shrill scream which went ringing +through the stillness and seemed to linger in the room after she had +disappeared. Barrant heard her muttering and laughing as she descended the +stairs. + +The sounds died away into a silence so absolute as to suggest the +impression of a universe suddenly stricken dumb. Barrant crossed the room +to the window, where he stood looking out, deep in thought. + +What was the meaning of it all--of this latest scene in particular? The +game of patience so tempestuously concluded had occupied half-an-hour. He +had noted the time. Yet Mrs. Thalassa insisted she had played only one +game after half-past eight on the night of the murder. If he dared accept +such a computation of time an unimagined possibility in the case stood +revealed. But--a demented woman. "A parable in the mouth of a fool." +Perhaps it was because she was a fool that he had stumbled on this +revelation. She lacked the wit to lie about it. + +If so-- + +His eyes, straying incuriously over the outstretched panorama of sea and +cliffs beneath the window, fell upon a man's outline scaling the cliff +path near the Moon Rock. Disturbed in his meditations, Barrant watched the +climber. He reached the top and appeared in full view on the bare summit +of the cliffs. Barrant stared down upon him, amazed beyond measure. The +advancing figure was Charles Turold. + + + + +CHAPTER XXX + + +Barrant hastened from the room downstairs to the front door. From the open +doorway he saw Charles Turold advancing across the rocks in the direction +of the house, and he ran swiftly down the gravel path to intercept him. + +Charles looked up and came on as if there was nothing to turn back for. +His clear glance dwelt on the figure by the gate without fear--with +seeming gratification. Barrant was amazed. He had been prepared for an +attempt at flight, but not this welcoming look. Never before had he known +a man show joy at the prospect of arrest. The experience was so disturbing +that he went across the intervening space to meet Charles, and laid a hand +upon his arm. + +"I suppose you know you are wanted by the police?" he said. + +"I am aware of it," was the quiet reply. "I was going to give myself up." + +"Did you come back to Cornwall for that purpose?" asked the detective, +shooting another puzzled glance at him. + +"I came back to try and discover the truth." + +"About what?" + +"About my uncle's death." + +"And have you discovered it?" + +"I have." + +Barrant did not understand the young man's attitude, or the tone of +heartfelt relief in which he uttered these words, but he felt that the +conversation in its present form had gone far enough. + +"Do you propose to tell me the truth?" he asked, with a slight cynical +emphasis on the last word. + +"I do." + +Barrant's surprise kept him silent for a moment, but when he spoke he was +very incisive-- + +"In that case it is my duty to warn you--" + +"There is no need to warn me," Charles quickly interrupted. "I know. Any +statement I make will be taken down and used against me. That's the +formula, isn't it, or something to that effect? Let us go into the +house--my story will take some time in the telling." + +He made this request as a right rather than a favour, and Barrant found +himself turning in at the gate with him. In silence they walked to the +house, and it was Charles Turold who led the way to the sitting-room. + +"It was here it began," he murmured, glancing round the deserted +apartment, "and it seems fitting that the truth should be brought to light +in the same place." + +"Provided that it is the truth," commented his companion. + +Charles did not reply. They had been standing face to face, but he now +drew a chair to the table and sat down. Barrant walked to the door and +locked it before seating himself beside him. + +"You can begin as soon as you like," he said. + +"I think I had better tell you about my own actions, first of all, on that +night," said Charles, after a brief silence. "It will clear the way for +what follows. I was up here that night--the night of the murder." + +"I know that much," was Barrant's cold comment. + +"You suspected it--you did not know it," Charles quickly rejoined. + +He remained profoundly silent for a moment, as if meditating his words, +and then plunged into his tale. + +The account of his own visit to Flint House on the night of the murder he +related with details withheld from Sisily. The visit was the outcome of a +quarrel between father and son over Robert Turold's announcement about his +wife's previous marriage. Charles was shocked by his uncle's decision to +make the story public, and had wandered about the cliffs until dark trying +to decide what to do. Ultimately he returned home and asked his father to +use his influence with his brother to keep the secret in the family. His +father called him a fool for suggesting such a thing, declined to offend +his brother or blast his own prospects by such damned quixotic nonsense. +On this Charles had announced his intention of seeing his uncle and +telling him he would leave England immediately and forever unless the +scandal was kept quiet. That made his father angry, and they quarrelled +violently. Charles cut the quarrel short by flinging out of the house in +the rain, to carry out his intention of interviewing his uncle. He walked +across the moors to Flint House. The front door was open, the downstairs +portion of the house in darkness, and his uncle lying upstairs in his +study--dead. + +He hurried over all this as of small importance in the deeper significance +of Thalassa's story. That was to him the great thing--the wonderful +discovery which was to clear Sisily and put everything right. He believed +that the plan which had brought him to Cornwall was working splendidly. +The chance encounter with the detective was really providential--a +speeding up, a saving of valuable time. + +The possibility of disbelief did not dawn upon him. He overlooked that his +listener was also his custodian and judge--the suspicious arbiter of a +belated story told by one whose own actions were in the highest degree +suspicious. His overburdened mind forgot these things in the excitement of +hope. He talked with the candour and freedom of one young man confiding in +another. When he had finished he looked at his companion expectantly, but +Barrant's eyes were coldly official. + +"A strange story!" he said. + +"A true one," Charles eagerly rejoined. "Thalassa has been walking along +the coast ever since in the expectation of finding this man. He will kill +him if he meets him." + +It was Barrant's lot to listen to many strange stories which were always +true, according to the narrators, but generally they caused him to feel +ashamed of the poverty of human invention. He was not immediately +concerned to discover whether Thalassa's story was true or false, or +whether it had been concocted between him and Charles with the object of +deceiving the authorities. The consideration of that infamous brownfaced +scoundrel's confession could be postponed--if it had ever been made. The +present business was with Charles Turold. There was something infernally +mysterious in his unexpected reappearance in that spot. He had gone to +London when he disappeared--he admitted that. What had brought him back? +To see Thalassa, as he said, in order to try and get at the truth? +Nonsense! He--Barrant--was not simple enough to believe that. What then? + +Barrant was not prepared to supply a ready answer to that question. But +his trained ear had detected many gaps in the young man's own narrative +which, filled in, might give it. Turold knew more than he had said--he was +keeping things back. Again--what things? Behind him stood the shadowy +figure of the girl and her unexplained flight. Barrant's instinct told him +that Charles was shielding her. He turned to the task of endeavouring to +reach the truth. + +"Let's go back a bit," he said casually. "You've left one or two points in +your own story unexplained. What about the key?" + +"The key?" Charles started slightly. "You mean--" + +"I mean the key of the room upstairs. You said you found the key in the +passage outside. You must have locked the door after you and taken it away +with you." + +"I did," replied the young man, in some hesitation. + +"For what reason?" + +Charles realized that he was on very thin ice. In his intense +preoccupation with Thalassa's story he had forgotten that his own +impulsive actions on that night must be construed as proof of his own +guilt or bear too literal interpretation of having been done to shield +Sisily. He saw that he was in a position of extraordinary difficulty. + +"I was hardly conscious of what I was doing, at the time," he said. + +"You took the key away with you?" + +Charles nodded with the feeling that the ice was cracking beneath him. + +"And how did it get back into the room afterwards?" + +Charles paused to consider his reply, but the detective supplied it. + +"The inference is fairly obvious," he said. "The key was found inside the +study after the locked door was burst open. It was your father who found +it, on the floor. At least, he pretended to find it there. It was your +father who started the suicide theory." He paused, then added in a smooth +reflective voice, "Really, the whole thing was very ingenious. It reflects +much credit on both of you." + +Charles spoke with an air of sudden decision. + +"My father did these things to shield me," he said. "I did not want to +reveal that, but I see that concealment will only direct unmerited +suspicion to him. When I returned from Flint House that night I let myself +in with my latchkey and went straight to my bedroom. My clothes were wet +through, and I lit a fire in my room to dry them. As I was spreading them +out in front of the blaze the key of the study dropped out of the +waistcoat pocket on to the floor. I had forgotten all about it till then. +I picked it up and placed it on the mantel-piece. + +"Some time after I was aroused by my father entering the room. He had come +to tell me of my uncle's death--the news had just arrived from Flint +House. His face was very white. 'Your uncle has been found dead--shot in +his study,' he said. I had jumped up when he came in and was standing in +the centre of the room. As he spoke his eyes travelled past me to my wet +clothes in front of the fire, and then returned to my face with a strange +expression. 'Did you go to Flint House?' he asked sharply. I could only +nod. 'And did you see him--your uncle?' was his next question. On that, I +told him the truth--told him what I had found. I told him about locking +the door, and showed him the key on the mantel-piece. He slipped it in his +pocket, then turned and gave me a terrible look. 'I am going over to Flint +House,' he said, 'but you had better stay here.' And he left the room." + +"What time did you reach Flint House that night?" asked Barrant. + +Charles Turold realized that the critical moment had come. He had foreseen +it when he saw the detective standing at the gate of Flint House. The +relation of Thalassa's story to Barrant had carried with it the inevitable +admission that Sisily was at Flint House on the night of her father's +death. The point Charles had to decide was whether he should divulge the +additional information that he had seen her leave Flint House with +Thalassa on that night. As he covered the space which intervened between +him and Barrant waiting at the gate, he decided that the moment had come +to tell all he knew. + +"I know now that it couldn't have been much after half-past eight," he +said in reply to Barrant's question. + +"Did you see Miss Turold there?" + +"I was coming to that. I was standing outside, considering what I would +say to my uncle, when the door opened and she and Thalassa came out." + +"Did you not speak to them?" + +"I went to do so, but they disappeared in the darkness of the moors before +I could reach them. I hastened after them, but I got off the road track +and wandered about the moors for nearly half an hour before I could find +my way back to Flint House." + +"And found the door open and your uncle lying dead upstairs?" + +"Yes." + +"Why have you not come forward with this story before?" + +"How could I expect any one to believe a story which sounds improbable in +my own ears? Even my father refused to believe it--then, or afterwards." + +"Still, you might have cleared Miss Turold on the question of time. There +was the stopped clock, you know. You reached Flint House shortly after +half-past eight, and went upstairs thirty minutes later." + +Charles Turold was subtle enough to see that this remark covered more than +a trap. It suggested that Barrant discredited the whole of his story. The +hood clock in the dead man's study had pointed to half-past nine on the +night he was killed. Thalassa's story, as it stood, proved that Sisily +must have left the house long before then. But Charles's story threw +suspicion back on to Sisily by suggesting that the police had been misled +about the time of the murder, which must have been committed at least half +an hour earlier than they assumed. Charles did not attempt to point out +this supposed flaw in the detective's reasoning. He confined himself to a +reply which was a strict statement of fact, so far as it went. + +"Until I heard Thalassa's story to-day I had no idea of the time of my own +arrival at Flint House on that night," he said. + +"The clock found lying on the floor upstairs was stopped at half-past +nine," remarked Barrant with a reflective air, as though turning over all +the facts in his mind. "According to the story told you by Thalassa, he +and Miss Turold left the house shortly after half-past eight. Thalassa +could not have returned until after half-past nine. He found the house in +darkness, his wife lying unconscious in the kitchen, and his master dead +upstairs. Thalassa, retracting his previous statement that he was not out +of Flint House that night, for the first time tells of some mysterious +avenger who, he thinks, killed Robert Turold while he was out of the house +with Miss Turold. Thalassa now suggests (if I understand you rightly) that +this man Remington, wronged by Robert Turold many years before, was +lurking outside in the darkness, and seized the opportunity of Thalassa's +absence to enter the house and murder the man who had wronged him. Have I +got it right?" + +"Yes," said Charles, "you have it right." + +"The story rests on Thalassa's bare statement, and Thalassa is a facile +liar." Barrant's tone was scornful. + +"He is not lying now," returned Charles, "and there is more than his bare +statement to support his story. Thalassa found his master cowering +upstairs with fear in his study shortly before he met his death. He then +told Thalassa he had heard Remington's footsteps outside. Thalassa laughed +at him, but undoubtedly Remington was out there, waiting for his +opportunity, which he took as soon as he saw Thalassa leave the house. If +I had not followed Thalassa and Miss Turold I might have seen him." + +"It's rather a pity you didn't." Barrant's tone was not free from irony. +"For then you might have secured the proof which at present the story +lacks." + +"There are other proofs," Charles earnestly continued. "There were the +marks on my uncle's arm, and the letter he wrote to his lawyer under the +influence of the terror in which Thalassa found him--the fear caused by +overhearing Remington's footsteps. Thalassa posted that letter." + +"Did he tell you so?" asked Barrant quickly. Then, as Charles remained +silent, he went on-- + +"How did you find out about the marks on your uncle's arm?" + +Charles hesitated before replying in a low voice-- + +"I paid a visit to Flint House on the night after the murder." + +"For what purpose?" + +"To see if I could find out anything which might throw light on the +mystery. I got in through a window and went upstairs. I saw the marks ... +then." + +"Did you discover anything else?" + +"No; the dog started to bark, and I left as quickly as I could." + +"I see." + +Barrant's voice was non-committal, followed after a pause by a quick +change of tone. + +"I shall investigate this story later," he said coldly. "Meantime--" + +"Why not investigate it immediately?" asked Charles in a disappointed +voice. "Thalassa will be back directly, or I can take you down to the +cliffs were I left him." + +Barrant was reminded of the flight of time. It would be as well to remove +Charles before Thalassa returned. Time enough for Thalassa's story later! +At that moment it seemed to Barrant that the final solution of the mystery +was almost in his hands. Mrs. Thalassa had been wiser than he. The single +game of patience suggested the solution of the problem of the time. It did +more than that. It seemed to provide the key of the greater problem of +Charles Turold's actions on that night. He had endeavoured to shield +Sisily by altering the hands of the clock. The rest, for the present, must +remain mere conjecture. One more question he essayed-- + +"Can you tell me where Miss Turold is to be found?" + +"I know, but I am not going to tell you." + +Barrant's eye rested on Charles. + +"You must come with me," he said. + +Charles nodded. Despairingly he reflected that the interview had not +turned out as he expected. There were other means, and he must be patient. + +And Sisily? There was anguish in that thought. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI + + +With a beating heart Sisily gained the shelter of her room and locked the +door, her eyes glancing quickly around her. She did not expect to see +anything there, but she had reached the stage of instinctive terror when +one fears lurking shadows, unexpected noises, or an imagined alteration in +the contour of familiar things. There was nothing in the room to alarm +her, and her thoughts flew back to the face of the man she had seen in the +street outside. The owner of the face had leered at first, and then his +glance hardened into suspicion as he looked. When she hurried past him he +had shifted his position to stare at her by the light of the street lamp. +Had he followed her? That was the question she could not answer. She had +heard footsteps behind her in the dark street, horrible stealthy footsteps +which had caused terror to rush over her like a flood, and sent her flying +along the street to her one haven. As she ran she had felt a touching +faith in the security of her room, if she could reach it. Out there, in +the open street, it had seemed impregnable, like a fortress. + +Now as she sat there she had a revulsion of feeling. The room was not +safe, the house was not safe. Not now. She had been very imprudent. She +had run straight home to her hiding-place, her only refuge. Why had she +not waited to make sure that she was followed? Then she could have slipped +away in a different direction until she had evaded pursuit, and returned +to her room afterwards. She had been very foolish. + +She approached her window and gazed down, but could discern nothing in the +darkness. She tried to shake off her fear, telling herself that it was +imagination. But her mind remained full of misgivings, and her inner +consciousness peopled the obscurity of the street below with lurking +figures. + +Weariness overcame her. She retired from the window and laid down on her +bed, not to sleep, but to think. Her fright had turned her mind +temporarily from the contemplation of a greater disaster. That was the +arrest of Charles Turold. She had learnt the news from an evening paper +which she had bought at the corner of the street. The announcement was +very brief, merely stating that he had been arrested in Cornwall. The +guarded significance of the information was not lost upon her. Charles had +been captured on his way back to her, and her agonized heart whispered +that she was responsible for his fate. + +Bitterly she now blamed herself for having let him go on the quest. She +hardly asked herself whether it had succeeded or failed, perhaps because +she had subconsciously accepted the view that Thalassa, after all, had +nothing to tell. Nor did she think of the calamity which had again +overtaken her love. The effect of her original renunciation was still +strong within her, and Charles's discovery of her and her promise to him +had not really altered her attitude. His finding her, and their subsequent +conversation in the room below, bore an air of the strangest unreality to +her, as if she had been merely an actor in a stirring scene which did not +actually affect her. Some subtle inward voice told her that these things +did not matter to her. + +It was part of a feeling which she had always within her--the sense of +living under the shadow of some dark destiny which would not be mitigated +or withheld. It was a strange point of view for one so young, but it had +been hers ever since she remembered anything. The tragedy and the shame +which had come into her life recently had found her, as it were, waiting. +She regarded them merely as the partial fulfilment of the unescapable +thing which had been prepared for her before she was born, and had dogged +her lonely footsteps since childhood. In the isolated circumstances of her +life and upbringings it was not strange, perhaps, that she had such +imaginings. + +She had loved Charles Turold with all the strength of a passionate +solitary nature, and it was this feeling or instinct of fatality which had +given her the strength to renounce him. Indeed, it seemed to her that that +inseparable companion of her inmost thoughts had prompted her to linger +outside the door at Flint House on this afternoon so that she should +overhear her father's words--catch that sinister fragment of a sentence +which compelled her to refuse the love of Charles until she had learnt the +truth. She could not listen to him with that secret half-guessed. And, the +full truth known, no other course was open to her save renunciation. + +She had not wavered. Sometimes, in the vain way of the young heart seeking +for happiness, she found herself wishing that she had not listened at the +door to those few words which sent her back to Flint House that awful +night to learn the truth from her father, or, at least, had not acted upon +them. The words she overheard had not told her much, and she might have +tried to forget them. But she thrust that thought from her like an evil +thing. She would have hated herself if she had followed that course and +found out the truth of her birth afterwards, deeming herself unworthy of +the love of one who had been ready to sacrifice everything for her sake. +No! It was better, far better, that she should know. + +She had not thought of suspicion falling on herself. Her youth and +inexperience, borne upward on the lofty wings of sacrifice, had not +foreseen the damning significance which might gather round her secret +visit to Flint House and her subsequent disappearance. Not even when she +heard of her father's death had the folly of her contemplated action +dawned on her. Her dreamy unpractical temperament, keyed up to the great +act of abnegation, had not paused to consider what the consequences might +be to herself. + +Lying there in the darkness of her room, she recalled how that revelation +had been made to her. It was the first night after her arrival in London, +in the drawing-room of a private hotel near Russell Square, where she had +intended staying for a few days while she sought for some kind of +employment. There was a group of women seated round the fireplace, +talking. She was seated by herself some distance away, turning over the +leaves of a magazine, when a loud remark by one of the speakers startled +her into an attitude of listening fear. "Have you read about this Cornwall +murder?" The words, cold and distinct, had broken into her sad reflections +like a stone dropped from a great height. They had gone on talking without +looking at her, and she had listened intently, masking her conscious +features with the open magazine. It was well that she did. They discussed +the murder in animated tones. The strangest case! ... A great title ... +the Turrald title ... to be heard before the House of Lords next week ... +and now the claimant was murdered ... he was very wealthy, too. Thus they +talked; then the first voice, which seemed to dominate all the others, +broke in: "It was thought to be suicide at first, but I see by tonight's +paper that his daughter is suspected. She has disappeared, and is supposed +to have fled to London. What are girls coming to--always shooting somebody +or somebody shooting them! It's the war, I suppose...." + +The shock of that double disclosure had been almost too much to bear. Till +then she had not known that her father had been murdered, much less that +she was suspected of killing him. Dizziness had swept over her. Things +seemed to spin round her, yet she saw them rotating with a kind of +dreadful distinctness--the false smiling faces of the women, the +furniture, a cat blinking on the hearthrug, an empty coffee cup on a small +table. One stout lady, enthroned on a pile of red and blue cushions, +sailed round and round on a sofa with the preposterous repetition and +tragic reality of a fat woman on a roundabout. Then the circling faces and +furniture vanished. She swayed with the sensation of growing darkness, and +had the oddest fancy that the break of the waves on Cornish cliffs was +sounding in her ears. She was dreamily inhaling the sea air.... + +She had pulled herself sharply together. She had something of her father's +tenacity and courage in her composition, and that had nerved her to face +the ordeal and saved her from giving herself away. The darkness lightened, +the electric lights danced dizzily back into view, and the room became +stationary once more. With an effort at calmness she rose from her seat +and sought her room, and next morning she left the house. Henceforth her +lot was one of furtive movement and concealment. + +As she lay there, staring open-eyed into the darkness, her thoughts +slipped back to the night of her visit to Flint House in a vain effort to +recollect some overlooked incident which might throw light on her father's +mysterious death. There was one thing over which she had frequently +puzzled without arriving at any interpretation of it. She thought of it +now. She saw herself stealing from her father's room with the sound of his +last awful words ringing through her being. Beneath, near the foot of the +staircase, she could see Thalassa waiting, the glow of the tiny hall light +falling on his stern listening face. She was walking along the passage to +go to him when some impulse impelled her to glance through a window which +looked out on the moors and the rocks near the house. + +Her eyes had fallen on a shape, shrouded in the obscurity of the rocks not +far from the window, which seemed to have some semblance to the motionless +figure of a man. She had stood there for a moment, glancing down intently, +but it had not stirred. If it had human semblance, it seemed to be carved +in stone. She came to the conclusion that she was mistaken. Experience had +taught her what strange shapes the rocks took after nightfall. With +another fleeting glance she had hurried downstairs, and from the house. + +She thought about it now without arriving at any conclusion as to what it +was that she had seen so indistinctly--whether man or rock. Charles had +been up there that night, but it was not Charles. This figure or rock was +on the other side of the house. + +Stupor descended gradually on her tired brain like the coming of darkness, +and she fell into sleep--the first rest that had visited her since she +learnt of Charles's arrest. But her slumber was disturbed by dreams. She +dreamt that she was back in Cornwall, sitting on her old perch at the foot +of the cliffs, looking at the Moon Rock. The face in the Rock was watching +her, as it had always watched her, but this time with a dreadful sneer +which she had never seen before. It frightened her so that she moaned and +tossed uneasily, and awoke with a cry, shaking with terror. + +As she reached out her hand for the matches by the bedside to light the +gas, the sound of the front door-bell pealed through the house. Sisily +sprang up, her eyes seeking to pierce the darkness, her ears listening +intently. Who could it be? She was alone in the house. Mrs. Johns had gone +to one of her spiritualistic meetings, and was not likely to be home until +late. Besides, she had her own key, with which she always let herself in. +She crept cautiously to the window and strained her eyes downward. She was +just able to catch a glimpse of two vague figures underneath in the +darkness. The light of the street lamp glinted on something one of them +was wearing on his head. It was a policeman's helmet. + +The terror of the hunted took possession of her. She sought to remain +calm; her trembling lips essayed a sentence of a prayer. But it was no +use. She was too young for philosophy or Christian resignation. Terror +shook her with massive jaws. She did not want to be caught, to be put in +prison, to be killed. She wandered aimlessly about the room like a trapped +creature. She must escape--she would escape! + +With a great effort she calmed herself to reflect--to calculate if there +was any chance of getting away. She esteemed it fortunate that she had not +lit the gas in her room. The whole house was in darkness. The policeman +might think there was nobody in, and go away. But she dared not reckon on +that. + +There came another and louder ring of the bell downstairs. + +Again she crept to the window and looked down. The policeman and the other +man were conferring in a murmur which reached her ears. The policeman +stepped back into the garden path and scanned the darkened windows of the +house. She shrank back from the window. + +The ring was followed by the sound of knocking at the front door--knocking +heavy and prolonged, which reverberated solemnly through the silent house. +Then once more there was silence. + +In her ignorance of the methods of the law she wondered wildly whether the +next step would be to break in the door and search the house. Terror shook +her again at this thought, scorched her with burning breath. She would +escape--she must. But how? Her fingernails pierced the palms of her hands +as she vainly tried to think out a way. Should she hide somewhere? She +rejected that plan as impracticable. The back way? But there was no +outlet--only a small garden abutting on other back gardens. There was a +dark side street only a few houses away. If she could only reach it.... + +She stood quite motionless, expecting the knocking to start again. But it +did not. She thought she heard the shuffle of feet and husky whispers in +the garden path underneath, but she could not be sure of that. What were +they doing? Why were they so silent? "Suppose they got in through the +window?" she whispered to herself. Her soul died within her at that +thought. She tried to assure herself that the windows were locked, but her +staring eyes peopled the invisible staircase with creeping figures. The +darkness grew intense and terrifying, like a rushing black torrent flowing +over her head. She was alone, in an empty world ... The torrent ceased, +and the darkness took the form of a great sable wing, moving, flapping, +seeking to enfold her. She put up her hands to ward it off. + +At that instant a sharp and decisive sound reached her. It was the click +of a shut gate. As she recognized the sound a new thought came to her--a +hope, when hope seemed gone. She stepped noiselessly to the window and +looked down. She was just in time to catch a glimpse of two retreating +figures revealed in dark contour beneath the rays of the street lamp. The +next moment they passed out of sight. + +They had gone! But they would return--she felt sure of that. She must get +away at once before they did--run out of the door and make for the side +street. + +She listened for a moment longer. There was no sound anywhere now. The +house was lapped in absolute quietness. She felt for her hat, and calming +her nerves with a desperate effort, stole quickly from the room and +downstairs. As she stood in the silent hall, facing the closed door, she +again thought she heard whisperings. She recoiled in fear, wondering if +they were outside, waiting. It was her worst ordeal yet. Then desperation +conquered her terror. Her trembling fingers pulled back the bolt, and she +issued forth. + +There was no one there to check her flight. The streets seemed empty. +Without turning her head she ran past the houses which intervened between +her and the side street. She gained it, and turned into its friendly +darkness. She was as free as a bird again, for the moment. + +A kind of exultation seized her at this unexpected deliverance from her +adventure, but that mood passed as she reflected upon her present +position. She had left the house without her few belongings, and what was +far worse, without her money, which she kept in a hand-bag locked up in +her small case in the bedroom she had just left. + +She had not a penny in the world, and she dared not go back. + +That was not the moment to reflect upon the grimness of her situation. The +sound of approaching footsteps shaped her fears of capture into renewed +action. She walked rapidly away. + +The time was near midnight, and the streets were almost empty. She kept +her way along dark obscure streets, shunning the lighted thoroughfares. +She had no settled plan in her mind, except to keep on. Hers was the +instinct of the hunted creature for darkness and obscurity. Her fevered +spirit hurried her along, spurring her with the menace of an imprisonment +which was worse than the cramped horror of the grave. In the grave there +was no consciousness of the weight of the earth above, but in prison, held +like an animal, watched by horrible men, beating despairing hands against +locked doors--ah, no, no! Her free young body and soul revolted with +nausea at the thought. Death would be better than that. She walked still +more rapidly. + +With that possibility impending she shrank from any chance contact with +passers-by, turning into side streets to avoid any one she saw coming. +Once, a policeman, appearing unexpectedly out of the shadows, set her +heart beating wildly, but he passed by without looking at her. + +It grew later, and the streets became quite deserted. She had been walking +for more than an hour when she noticed that the houses were scattered, +with open spaces now and then, and a bracing freshness in the air which +suggested that she was getting away from where the herds of London slept, +into open spaces. For some obscure reason this made her nervous, and she +turned back. After a while London closed in on her again, but this time in +a more squalid quarter, a wilderness of dirty narrow streets, where even +in the darkness the debasing marks and odours of squalid poverty were +perceptible in the endless rows of houses which seemed to crowd in upon +her. She came to a bridge and crossed it into an area of gaunt and +darkened factories. Here, strange nocturnal noises and sights frightened +her. She saw shadowy forms, and heard rough voices on a wharf in the +blackness of the river beneath her, followed by a woman's scream. She ran +when she heard that--ran along the riverside till she came to another +bridge, which she recrossed. She found herself in a quieter and better +part of London, where the streets were wide and well-kept, and she +slackened her pace into a walk again. + +The night wore on like eternity, with immeasurable slowness yet incredible +swiftness. She had been walking for hours, and yet she had no feeling of +fatigue. She seemed to move through the streets without any effort of her +own. Towards the morning she was carried along with a complete absence of +bodily sensation, as if she had been in very truth one of those +disembodied spirits of Mrs. Johns' spirit world, driven through the +solitude of the ages by the implacable decree of some incalculable +malignant force called immortality. She felt as though centuries of time +had rolled over her head when the murk of the lowering sky lightened, and +the London dawn was born, naked and grey. + +The dawn brought London to life with a speed which was in the nature of a +miracle. From the appearance of the first workers to the flocking of the +streets, was, as it were, but a moment. The 'buses and trams commenced +running, and shops opened. Sisily found herself walking along Holborn, +where the thickening crowds jostled her as she walked. But she did not +care for that now, nor did she seek the comparative seclusion of the side +streets. Her fear of capture had passed away, and her only feeling was +impenetrable isolation and loneliness. The people who were passing had no +more existence to her than if they had been a troop of ghosts. She had the +sensation of belonging to another world and could not have communicated +with them if she had wished. But the spirit which had sustained her during +the night disappeared with the clamorous advance of the day. She became in +an instant conscious of the grievous pangs of a body which seemed to have +been flung back to her in a damaged state. It ached all over. Her head +throbbed with a dull buzzing sound, and she was so tired that she could +hardly stand. She felt as if she must lie down--in the street, anywhere. +And she was tormented by thirst. But she still kept on. + +She found herself, after a while, by one of those little backwaters which +are the salvation of strangers to London: a green railed square, with +trees and fountains, and a quiet pavement where a street artist was +drawing bright pictures with crayons. An old four-wheeler was moored in +the gutter by the entrance, the horse munching in the depths of a +nose-bag, the elderly driver reclining against the side of the cab, +smoking and watching the pavement artist. + +Sisily entered the empty square to rest herself. As she sat there on one +of the wooden seats the full misery of her situation came home to her, and +she asked herself anxiously what she was to do. She had nowhere to go, and +no money to buy food or shelter--nothing in the world that she could call +her own except the clothes she was wearing. They were the coat and skirt +she had put on to come to London, and she noticed with feminine concern +that the dark cloth showed disreputable stains and splashes of her night's +exposure. Hastily she took her handkerchief from her pocket to remove the +tell-tale marks. As she did so a bit of buff cardboard fluttered on to the +gravel at her feet. She stooped and picked it up. It was the return half +of her ticket to Cornwall. + +The remembrance of her arrival at Paddington revived in her as she looked +at it--the fright she had had when the ticket collector caught her by the +arm to return half of the whole ticket she had given up. She had put the +ticket in the pocket of her jacket and never thought of it again. Had Fate +decreed her original mistake of taking a return ticket when she needed +only a single one? She was at that moment inclined to think so. + +The question of its use was decided as soon as she saw it. The ticket +would take her back to Cornwall and Thalassa. Thalassa would help and +shield her. + +The gilt hands of a church clock opposite the square pointed to half-past +eight. She knew that the morning express for Cornwall started shortly +after ten, but she did not know what part of London she was in or the +direction of Paddington. Animated by a new hope, she left her seat and +asked the cabman for directions. + +The cabman looked at her with a ruminating eye. That eye, with +unfathomable perspicacity, seemed to pry into her empty pockets and pierce +her penniless state. He did not ask her if she wanted to be driven there, +but intimated with a shake of his grey head that Paddington was a goodish +walk. Then he gave her directions for finding it--implicit and repeated +directions, as though his all-seeing eye had also divined that she was a +stranger to the ways of London. + +Sisily thanked him and turned away, repeating his directions so that she +should not have to ask anybody else. First to the right, second to the +left, along Tottenham Court Road to Oxford Street, up Oxford Street to +Edgeware Road, down Edgeware Road to Praed Street--so it ran. She followed +them carefully, and found herself on Paddington station a quarter of an +hour before the departure of the express. + +She entered a third-class carriage, but sat in a corner seat, longing for +the train to move out. The minutes dragged slowly, and passengers kept +thronging in. All sorts of people seemed to have business in Cornwall at +that late season of the year. They came hurrying along in groups looking +for vacant compartments. Sisily kept an eager eye upon the late arrivals, +hoping that they would pass by her compartment. By some miraculous chance +she was left undisturbed until almost starting time, then a group of fat +women dashed along the platform with the celerity of fear, and crowded +ponderously in. The next moment the train began to slip away from the +station, and was soon rushing into the open country at high speed. + +Of the details of that journey she knew nothing at all. She sat staring +out of the window, her thoughts racing faster than the train. The events +of the last few days receded from her mental vision like the flying houses +and fields outside the carriage window, fading into some remote distance +of her mind. Relief swelled in her heart as the train rushed west and +London was left farther and farther behind. Something within her seemed to +sing piercingly for joy, as though she had been a strange wild bird +escaping from captivity to wing her way westward to the open spaces by the +sea. London had frightened her. Its crowded vastness had suffocated her, +its indifference had appalled her. She had felt so hopelessly alone there; +far lonelier than she had ever been in Cornwall or Norfolk. Nature could +be brutal, but never indifferent. She could be friendly--sometimes. The +sea and the sky had whispered loving greetings to her, but not London. +There was nothing but a hideous and blank indifference there. She was glad +to get away--away from the endless rows of shops and houses, from the +unceasing throngs of indifferent people, back to the lonely moors of +Cornwall, to look down from the rocks at the sea, and breathe the keen +gusty air. + +As the journey advanced and the train swept farther west she became dull, +languid, almost inert. Lack of food and the previous night's exposure +induced in her a feeling of giddiness which at times had in it something +of the nature of delirium. In this state her mind turned persistently to +Thalassa, and the object of her return to him. She was struggling towards +him, up great heights, under a nightmare burden. She seemed to see him +standing there with his hands outstretched, ready to lift the burden off +her shoulders if she could only reach him. Then she was back in the +kitchen at Flint House, watching him bending over his lamps, listening to +the wicked old song he used to sing-- + + "The devil and me we went away to sea, + In the old brig 'Lizbeth-Jane...." + +The train caught up the refrain and thundered it into her tired head ... +"Went away to sea, went away to sea, In the old brig 'Lizbeth-Jane." And, +listening to it, she fell into a dazed slumber. + +She awoke with a start to find that it was getting dusk and the train was +running smoothly through South Cornwall. As she looked out of the window a +grey corpse of a hill seemed to rise out of the sea. It was Mount St. +Michael. Then she caught a glimpse of Carn Brea and the purple moors. The +people in the carriage began to collect light luggage and put on coats and +wraps. The next moment the train came to a standstill at Penzance station. + +She clung to the safety of the throng in passing through the barrier, +fearing most the St. Fair wagonette which might be drawn up outside. She +was not known in Penzance, but the driver of the wagonette might recognize +her. But Mr. Crows, indifferent to shillings, had not yet arrived. Sisily +hurried past a group scanning the distant heights for the gaunt outline of +the descending cab, like shipwrecked mariners on the look-out for a sail. + +She reached the moor road by a short cut through the back part of the +town, and set out for Flint House in the velvety shadows of the early +gloaming. + +It had been raining, but the rain had ceased. The sun, hidden through a +long grey day, shone with dying brilliance in a patch of horizon blue, +gilding the wet road, and making the wayside puddles glitter like mirrors. +A soddened little bird twittered joyfully in the hedge, casting a round +black eye at her as she passed. The moors, carpeted with purple, stretched +all around her, glistening, wet, beautiful. + +In the train she had felt hungry and tired, with burning head and cold +limbs. As she walked these feelings wore off, and were replaced by a +feeling of upliftment which was magical in its change. Her misery and her +burden dropped from her. The softness of the moors was beneath her feet, +and a sweet wind touched her lips and cheeks with a breath which was a +caress. The plaintive distant cry of a gull reached her like a greeting. +The solitude of Cornwall surrounded her. + +When she reached the cross-roads she struck out across the moors. Before +her, at no great distance, she could see the swelling mountainous reaches +of green water breaking on the rocks in a long white line of foam, and the +dark outline of Flint House clinging to the dizzy summit of the black +broken cliffs. + +Her false strength failed her suddenly as she neared her journey's end. +The house loomed dimly before her tired vision in the fast gathering +darkness. She stumbled with faltering steps round the side of the house +to the kitchen door, and turned the handle. It was locked. She knocked +loudly. + +As in a vision she saw the white furtive face of Mrs. Thalassa peering out +at her from the window, and her fluttering hands pressed against the +glass, as though to thrust her back. Sisily rushed to the window. + +"Let me in!" she cried. "It is I--Sisily." + +The window opened suddenly, and Mrs. Thalassa stood there looking out at +her like a small grey ghost--a ghost with watchful glittering eyes. + +"Go away--go away," she whispered with a cunning glance. "Quick! They're +looking for you--they'll catch you." + +Sisily's heart went cold within her. "Where is Thalassa?" she faltered. +"Send him to me--tell him I have come back." Her eyes travelled vainly +around the gloom of the empty kitchen in search of him. + +"He's gone--gone away!" + +"Gone? Oh, no, no! Don't say that. Where has he gone?" + +"I don't know. He went away. He's not coming back." She shook her head +angrily, with a wild gleam in her eye. "You go away, too, or they'll catch +you--the police. They come every night to look for you." + +She cast another cunning look at the girl, and shut down the window. +Sisily could see her reaching up and fumbling with the lock. Thalassa +gone! Despair clutched her with iron hands, and held her fast. She glanced +up at the window of her father's study, and thought she saw the dead man +there, his stern face looking coldly down upon her. She turned away +shuddering. Where could she go? She had nowhere to go, and she knew her +strength would not carry her much farther. + +She plunged blindly into the shelter of the great rocks near the house. +She found herself wandering among them like a being in a dream. Then +complete unconsciousness overtook her, and she sank down. + +When she came to herself again night had descended and a storm was +brewing. She sat up wonderingly and looked around her, indifferent to the +rain which had commenced to fall on her uncovered head. Gradually +remembrance came back to her. She saw that she was lying on the great slab +of basalt which overhung the Moon Rock. She could hear the beat of the sea +far beneath her, but she felt no fear. She was not conscious of her body +or limbs--of nothing but a burning brain, and wide-open eyes which gazed +out into the darkness and stillness around her. + +As she looked it seemed to her startled imagination that the masses of +rocks which littered the edge of the cliff moved closer to each other, +starting out of the shadows into monstrous grotesque life, then circling +round her in a strange and dizzy whirl. It was as though the old Cornish +giants had come back to life for a corybantic dance with the demirips of +their race--dancing to the music of the sea sucking and gurgling into the +caves at the base of the cliffs. With swimming eyes Sisily watched them +careering and pirouetting around her. Faster and faster they went, +advancing, retreating, bending clumsily, then wavering, toppling, reeling, +like giants well drunk. A great stone fell into the sea with a splash, as +if dislodged by a giant foot. As though that signalled the cockcrow of +their glee, the dancers stopped in listening attitudes, and sank back into +rocks once more. + +Sisily turned her eyes weakly from the slumbering rocks to the hills. The +light of a coming moon behind them showed the outline of the granite +pillars and stone altars of the Druids, where they had once sought to +appease their savage gods, like the Israelites of old. Sisily had often +meditated by these places of sacrifice, trying to picture the scene. Now, +as she looked, it was enacted before her eyes. A red light brooded on one +of the hills, growing brighter and brighter. Brutish shaggy figures came +out of the darkness, dragging a youth to the altar. Sisily saw him +distinctly. He was naked, with a beautiful face, haggard and white, and +was bound with cords. Suddenly he freed himself, and dashed down the slope +into the darkness. He was pursued and brought back, and the cries of his +pursuers mingled with an appalling scream for help which seemed to float +down the mountain side to where she lay, filling the silent air with +echoes. + +This scene, too, faded away, and the beams of the rising moon, now +beginning to show over the hill-tops, formed in her mind the mirage of a +beautiful day--one of those exquisite days which Nature produces at long +intervals. Sisily saw a blue sky, sunlight like burnished silver, green +fields and clear pools in which everything was reflected ... a slumbrous +perfect day, with drowsy cattle knee-deep in grass, bees, and floating +butterflies, and the shrill notes of happy birds. + +Once more the tangled loom of her fevered brain wove a new picture. She +was back in her bedroom at Flint House, looking down at the graven face of +the Moon Rock. As she looked, a great hand seemed to come out of the sea +and beckon to her. The summons was one she dare not disobey. She left her +bed, crept downstairs in the darkness, out to the edge of the cliff, and +looked down. The face of the Moon Rock was watching her intently. She +thought it called her name. + +Ah, what was that cry? She came to her senses, startled, and looked +fearfully round her. She was alone on the cliffs, above the Moon Rock, and +she could hear the sea hissing at its base. But what else had she heard? +Had somebody called her name? It was still very dark. To the south the +light of the Lizard stabbed the black sky with a white flaming finger as +if seeking to pierce the darkness of eternity. Nearer, the red light of +the Wolf rock gleamed--a warning to passing souls flying southward from +England to eternal bliss to fly high above the rock where the spirit dog +lay howling in wait. Had the cry come from there? + +"Sisily! Sisily!" + +No. It was not the howl of the Wolf dog that she had heard. That was her +own name. She crept closer to the edge of the cliff and looked down into +the sea--down at the Moon Rock. The old Cornish legend of the drowned love +came back to her. Was Charles dead? and calling her to him? She would go +to him gladly. She had loved him in life, and if he wanted her in death +she would go to him. + +She clutched a broken spur of rock on the brink and looked down to where +the sea bored round the black sides of the Moon Rock. She could see her +own pool too, lying peaceful and calm in the encircling arm of the rock. +In her delirium she struggled to her feet and started to climb down the +face of the cliff. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII + + +The wind tapped angrily at the windows of Flint House, the rain fell +stealthily, the sea made a droning uneasy sound. The fire which burnt on +the kitchen hearth was a poor one, a sullen thing of green boughs and coal +which refused to harmonize, but spluttered and fizzed angrily. The coal +smouldered blackly, but sometimes cracked with a startling report. When +this happened, a crooked bough sticking up in the middle of the fire, like +a curved fang, would jump out on to the hearthstone as though frightened +by the noise. + +Thalassa sat on one side of the fire, his wife on the other. Her eyes were +rapt and vacant; he sat with frowning brows, deep in thought. Robert +Turold's dog crouched in the circle of the glow with amber eyes fixed on +the old man's face as if he were a god, and Thalassa lived up to one of +the attributes of divinity by not deigning to give his worshipper a sign. +Occasionally the dog lifted a wistful supplicating paw, dropping it again +in dejection when it passed unregarded. + +Presently Thalassa got up and went to a cupboard in the corner. From some +hidden receptacle he extracted a coil of ship's tobacco and a wooden pipe +shaped into a negro's head, with little beads for eyes, such as may be +bought for a few pence in shops near the London docks. He returned to his +seat, filled the pipe, lit it with a burning bough, and fell to smoking +with lingering whiffs, gazing into the fire with dark gleaming eyes as +motionless as the glinting beads in the negro's carved head. + +The clock on the mantel-piece ticked steadily away in the silence. The +dog, with a brute recognition of the unsatisfactory nature of spiritual +aspiration, descended to the care of his own affairs, and scratched for +fleas which knew no other world than his hind-quarters. + +"Go away, go away! You mustn't come in here!" + +The shrill voice of Mrs. Thalassa broke the silence like a cracked bell, +shattering her husband's meditations, and causing the dog to spring to his +feet. Thalassa looked at her angrily. She was making mysterious motions +with her hands, as if expostulating with some phantom of her thoughts, +muttering and shaking her head rapidly. Her husband stared across in +silence for a moment. + +"By God! she doesn't improve with age," he growled; then, louder: "What's +the matter with you? What are you making that noise for?" + +The question went unheeded. To his astonishment she sprang to her feet +with a kind of grotesque vivacity, and, darting over to the window, began +gesticulating again with an angry persistency, as if to some one outside. + +Thalassa left his seat and went to the window also. His wife had ceased +her gestures, and stood still listening and watching. Thalassa pulled back +the blind, and looked out. The moor and rocks were draped in black, and +the only sounds which reached him were the disconsolate wail of the wind +and the savage break of the sea on the rocks below. He looked at his wife. +She had started tossing her hands again at some spectral invisible thing +in the shadowy night. She was quite mad--there could be no doubt of that. +He endeavoured to lead her back to her seat by the fireside, but she broke +away from him with surprising strength, and again her voice rang out-- + +"Go away ... go away! You can't come in. I won't let you in. You're a +wicked girl, Miss Sisily, and I won't let you in. You killed your father, +and you'd like to kill me, but I'll keep you locked out. Go away!" Her +voice rose to a screech. + +The blood rushed to Thalassa's head as he listened to these words. He +understood quite suddenly--this was not a demented raving. Sisily had been +there--she had come back to him in her fear--and she had been driven away. +He turned to his wife and caught her up in his great arms, shaking her +violently, as one shakes a child. The sight was terrible and absurd, but +there was no one to witness it but the dog, who circled round and round in +yelping excitement, as though the scene was enacted for his benefit alone. + +"Has Miss Sisily been here?" + +The question thundered out in the empty silence. Mrs. Thalassa crouched +like a preposterous hunched-up doll on the seat where her husband had +flung her, looking up at him with stupid eyes, but not speaking. He +approached her again. + +"Speak, woman, speak, or I'll strangle you." + +She backed away, whimpering with fear. "No, no, Jasper, leave me alone." + +"Has Miss Sisily been here?" + +The sight of those long outstretched hands, by their menace to her life, +seemed to restore her reason. "Yes," she mumbled. + +"When?" + +"This evening--before dark--when you were out." + +"And you wouldn't let her in?" + +"No." + +"How did you know it was her?" + +"She knocked at the door, and I looked out of the window." + +"Did you see which way she went?" + +"Over by the cliffs, where she used to go." + +Thalassa repeated these last words mechanically. Anger possessed him, but +apprehension stirred in his heart. Sisily had trusted him, she had come +back to him, and he had failed her. That had been at six o'clock, and it +was now nine. Three hours, and there had been a storm. Where was she? Had +she been out in the storm? + +He searched in the cupboard for a lantern, lit it, and made for the door, +followed by the dog. As he flung open the door the wind rushed in with +such force that it beat him back, and the candle in the lantern flickered +and lengthened like a naked flame. He fought his way out furiously, +slamming the door behind him. + +Outside, the rocks crouched in the darkness in nameless shapes. Thalassa +prowled among them, struggling desperately with the wind, telling himself +that she was safe--yes, by God, she was safe. Of course she wouldn't stay +on the rocks in that storm. She would seek shelter. "Where?" asked +something within him mockingly, "Where would she dare go, except to you?" +He stood still to reflect. "She might go to Dr. Ravenshaw's," he said +aloud, as though answering an unseen but real questioner. "Fool!" came the +reply, "you know she would not go to Dr. Ravenshaw's. She would not dare." +And fear gripped his heart coldly. + +He stumbled on again, bruising and cutting his limbs among the rocks. As +he went he kept calling her name--"Miss Sisily" at first, and then, as his +fear grew stronger, "Sisily, Sisily!" The wind wailed back to him, but +that was all. + +He stopped again to reflect. It was useless looking for her in the +darkness. He could do nothing until the moon was up. The sky was already +beginning to brighten with the coming light. So he stood where he was, +waiting. + +In a quarter of an hour the moon showed above the horizon, slurred through +the rain, like a great drowned face. Higher and higher it rose until the +black curtain lifted off the moors, and the light shimmered on little +pools left after the rain, made fretwork in the shadows of the rocks, and +fell upon the surface of the sea. And as the moon rose the hideous uproar +of wind and sea began to die away. + +Thalassa threw down the lantern, and resumed his search. Carefully he +explored in and out among the rude masses of rock, beating farther and +farther away from the house, cautiously skirting the perpendicular edge of +the cliffs, looking over, and backing away again. His wider cast brought +him at length to where the Moon Rock rose from the turmoil of the sea. He +crept on hands and knees to the bald face of the cliff, and looked down. + +By the light of the moon something caught his eye far below--something +white and small, showing distinctly against the black glistening base of +the Moon Rock. He could not discern what it was, but a nameless terror +seized him, and his jaw dropped as he crouched there, gazing. Then he +scrambled to his feet with a wild cry, and made for the path down the +cliffs to the pool. It was some distance from where he was, but there was +no shorter way. He rushed recklessly along the cliff edge till he reached +it, and climbed down. + +It was there he found her. + +She was lying limp and motionless on the edge of the pool, and the +receding tide was still lapping over the shelf of the rock where the sea +had flung her. + +Thalassa dropped on his knees beside her. "Sisily, Sisily!" he cried +hoarsely--"It's me--Thalassa!" + +He stooped over her, calling her repeatedly, but she did not reply. Her +face showed still and white in the moonlight. He unfastened the front of +her dress, and put his hard hand on her soft flesh, but he could not feel +her heart beating. He lifted her tenderly in his arms, and she lay against +his body inert and cold, her wet head resting on his shoulder. Thus he +started the ascent of the cliff. + +A giant's strength still lurked in his ageing frame. It was well for him +that it did. He had only his feet to depend upon in that long slippery +ascent, and the wind tugged at him angrily, as if anxious to jerk him off +the path into the sea. But he fought his way up with his burden, though +his body was swaying and his head was dizzy when he reached the top. + +He did not stop for a moment. Still holding her fast he set out, not for +Flint House, but to the churchtown. Dizzy, panting, and staggering, he +struggled on across the moors, and as he walked he listened anxiously for +any sound from the inanimate form in his arms. + +But she lay still and motionless against his breast. + +On he went until he reached the churchtown, and made his way up the empty +street to Dr. Ravenshaw's house. He turned in the garden gate, and beat +with his heavy boot against the closed door. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII + + +Some one stirred within, and a ray of light in the fanlight grew bright as +footsteps in the passage drew near. The door opened, and showed the figure +of Dr. Ravenshaw holding in his hand a lighted lamp which shone upon +Thalassa and the dripping figure in his arms. The doctor looked down from +the doorstep in silent surprise, then stepped quickly back from the +threshold and opened the surgery door, holding the lamp high to guide +Thalassa in. + +"There--on the couch," he said, placing the lamp on the table. "What has +happened?" + +"Miss Sisily fell over the cliffs by the Moon Rock. I found her and +carried her up, and brought her straight here." + +The doctor's quick glance was a professional tribute to the strength of a +frame capable of performing such a feat. He turned his attention to +Sisily, bending over her and feeling her pulse. With a sharp exclamation +he dropped her wrist and tore open the front of her dress, placing his +hand on her heart. With his other hand he took up his stethoscope from the +table. + +"Bring that lamp closer--quick!" he cried. + +Thalassa lifted the lamp from the table and stood beside him. The yellow +glow of the lamp enveloped the livid bluish features of Sisily and the +stooping form with the stethoscope. The instrument of silver and rubber +held miraculous possibilities of life and death to Thalassa. He watched it +anxiously--directed the light upon it. The shape on the couch remained +motionless. + +Thalassa's gaze wandered from the stethoscope to Dr. Ravenshaw. The +doctor's bent neck showed white between the top of his shirt and the +grey hair above it. He was wearing no collar, so he must have been going +to bed--when the knock came. Thalassa's eyes dwelt on the exposed flesh +with a steady yet wondering contemplation. The lamp in his hand wavered +slightly. + +Dr. Ravenshaw rose to his feet, oblivious of the man who was staring at +his neck from behind. His downward glance rested on Sisily's face, and his +eyes were grave. He turned away and walked out of the room, but returned +almost immediately with a small mirror. + +"Hold the lamp higher," he said to Thalassa. "I want the light to fall +right on her face. Higher still--so." + +He fell on his knees by the couch and held the mirrored side of the glass +to Sisily's lips. The lamp, held aloft, illumined his face as well as +hers. His features were set and rigid. + +Thalassa stood still, his eyes brooding on the sharp outline of the bent +mask. A vague idea, startling and terrible, was magnifying itself in his +mind. Once his glance wandered to Ravenshaw's neck, then returned with +growing fixity to his face, seen at closer range than he had ever beheld +it. In the vivid light the elemental lines beneath the changes of time +took on a strange resemblance to a face he had known in the distant past. +A spectral being seemed to rise from the dead and resume life in the +kneeling body of Dr. Ravenshaw. + +Involuntarily he stepped back, and the likeness vanished in the added +distance. The veil of the past was dropped again. He could see nothing now +but the commonplace whiskered face of an elderly Cornish doctor bending +over the inanimate form on the couch. Again the lamp shook slightly. + +"What are you doing with that light?" said Ravenshaw peevishly. "Cannot +you hold it steady? Bring it closer, man--closer than that. Now, hold it +there." + +In the nearer vision the elemental lines of a forgotten face again +confronted Thalassa beneath the flabby contours of age. It was like +looking at a familiar outline covered by a mask--a transparent mask. He +stood stock still with uplifted lamp, like a man in a trance, but his eyes +never left Dr. Ravenshaw's face. + +Some minutes passed silently before Dr. Ravenshaw withdrew the mirror from +Sisily's lips. He turned it over and looked closely at the surface of the +glass. The man behind him stared over his shoulder. Their eyes met in the +mirror, and held for a moment fascinated. In that brief space of time the +revelation and recognition were completed. Dr. Ravenshaw's glance was the +first to break away. The hard brown eyes watching him followed the +direction of his view to a pair of spectacles resting on the table. +Thalassa understood the intention, and harshly forestalled it. + +"No use to put on your glasses now," he said. "I recognize ye, and I've +seen that damned scar on your neck." + +He put the lamp back on the table, and his hand went towards his belt. +Ravenshaw understood the motion and checked it with a gesture. + +"No need for that, either, Thalassa. There are other things to think +about." + +Thalassa's hand dropped to his side. "You're right," he muttered. "Get on +with your doctoring." + +"No--not now," answered Ravenshaw sadly. "It's no use. She is dead." + +"Dead!" Thalassa stood overwhelmed. Silently he surveyed the slight +recumbent form on the couch, his moving lips seemed to be counting the +drops which dripped from her clinging garments on to the carpet. "Dead, +did ye say? Why, I carried her here--brought her across the moors to you." +His voice trembled. "Can't ye do nothing?" + +"No--not now. It is too late." + +Thalassa's eyes rested attentively on the other's face. Ravenshaw's +complete acquiescence in death as an unalterable fact stung his untutored +feelings by its calmness. "Dead!" he repeated fiercely. "Then you've got +that to pay for now--Remington." + +"Pay? Oh, yes, I'll pay--make payment in full," was the reply, delivered +with a bitter look. "But not to you." + +"To think I shouldn't a' known ye!" Thalassa spoke like a man in a dream. + +"After all these years? After what I suffered alone on that +island--through you and Turold? You'd hardly have known me if you'd met me +six months afterwards instead of thirty years. Robert Turold didn't know +me. Nobody knew me." + +Thalassa's eyes still dwelt upon him with the unwilling look of a man +compelled to gaze upon an evocation of the dead. + +"Where did you get to--that night?" he quavered. "I could a' sworn--could +a' taken Bible oath--" + +"That you and that other scoundrel had killed me? I've no doubt. But it so +happened that I was saved--miraculously and unfortunately. I fell on to a +projecting spur of stone or rock not far down, which caught and held me. +By the light of the moon I saw you come along the ridge to look for me. +You were almost close enough for me to push you into that infernal sulphur +lake where you hoped I had gone. You turned back in time--fortunately for +yourself." + +Thalassa kept his gaze upon him with the meditating intentness of one +trying to learn anew a face so greatly altered by the awful changes of the +years. His great brown hands, hanging loosely at his sides, clenched and +opened rapidly with a quickness of action which had something vaguely +menacing in it. + +"I know your eyes now," he mumbled. "With the glasses on, you're +different. That's why ye wore them, I suppose. Turold heered ye that night +you killed 'un. He knew your footstep--or thought he did. I laughed at +him. A' would to God A'mighty I'd hearkened to him, and then I might a' +catched you. How did ye get away from the island?" + +Ravenshaw raised his head to reply, then stood mute, in a listening +attitude. Outside the window the sound of footsteps crunched the gravel +walk, and approached the house. Thalassa heard and listened too. The +crunching ceased, and there was a knock at the door. Thalassa looked +questioningly at Ravenshaw, who nodded in the direction of the door. + +"Open it," he said. Thalassa hesitated. His eyes sought the couch. "Yes, +in here," said Ravenshaw understandingly. "We shall want witnesses." + +Thalassa went to the door and opened it. + +A man's voice in the darkness asked for Dr. Ravenshaw, and the owner of +the voice stepped quickly inside at Thalassa's invitation. The visitor +peered at the tall figure in the unlighted passage. "Is it you, Thalassa?" +he said hesitatingly, and Thalassa recognized the voice of Austin Turold. +The voice went on: "Tell me--" + +"In there." Thalassa jerked his head towards the gleam falling through the +partly open surgery door. "He wants you." He walked ahead and pushed the +door open. Austin Turold followed, but started back as he looked within. +Then he entered, his eyes dwelling on the shadowy outline on the couch in +the corner. + +"What has happened at Flint House, Ravenshaw? Now--to-night, I mean." He +spoke shakily. "There's a story abroad of Thalassa having been seen +carrying a figure through the churchtown and entering your house. Has +somebody fallen off the cliffs--been drowned? Is that it?" He stepped +quickly across to the couch, and, looking down, as swiftly recoiled. "What +does this mean?" he hoarsely cried. + +Ravenshaw did not speak. + +"Miss Sisily fell over the cliffs by the Moon Rock," said Thalassa. "I +went down for her, but it was too late. She was drowned." + +Austin's look sought Ravenshaw's, who nodded in confirmation. + +"More horror--more misery," whispered Austin. A shudder ran through him. +"I do not understand," he said simply. "Thalassa?" + +"It's not for me to explain," said Thalassa quickly. + +"You then, Ravenshaw." + +Ravenshaw spoke slowly. + +"They have been looking for the man who killed Robert Turold--your +brother. Well, I am he." + +"You!" gasped Austin, in a choking voice. "What do you mean? I do not +understand you. My son has been arrested." + +"He has been arrested wrongly, then. It is I--I alone am responsible." + +Austin groped for his glasses like a man suddenly enveloped in darkness. +His fingers closed on them and adjusted them on the bridge of his nose. +Through them he surveyed the man before him with close attention. + +"Ravenshaw," he said gravely, "either you are mad or I am. Did not my +sister call here to see you on the night my brother was killed, and did +you not go with her to Flint House and break into my brother's room? How, +then, could you have killed Robert? Besides, I saw my son at Penzance +to-day. He tells me he is innocent, and that the murderer is a man whom +Robert and Thalassa robbed and wounded on a lonely island thirty years +ago, and left there for dead, as they thought. What does it all mean?" + +"These things can all be explained," replied Ravenshaw. "It is a long +story. Sit down, and I will tell it to you." + +"Not here--not here!" replied Austin unsteadily. His glance went to the +corner of the room and the tranquil figure on the couch. He hid his face +for a moment in his hands, then said: "Let us go to another room." + +Ravenshaw made a sad gesture of acquiescence. "Come," he said quietly, +lifting the lamp from the table. The other two followed him, and Thalassa +closed the surgery door gently behind them. The doctor led them into a +sitting-room opposite, where they seated themselves. After a moment's +silence Ravenshaw began to speak in low controlled tones which gave no +indication of the state of his feelings. + +"You know all about this island part of the story," he said, inquiringly, +"how your brother and Remington, seeking their fortune together, came to +be there?" + +Austin Turold nodded. + +"I am Remington," pursued the other. "I will take up the story from that +point--it will save time." + +Again Austin Turold assented with a nod. There was neither anger nor +resentment in his glance. The look which rested on the speaker was one of +unmixed amazement. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV + + +"I will pass over as briefly as possible what happened after I was left +behind in that horrible place. By the light of the moon I saw them +go--from the ridge I saw them put out to sea. I watched them until the +boat was a mere speck on the luminous waters, and finally vanished from +sight. I was left alone, a desperately wounded man, on an arid sulphurous +island, without food or water. + +"When I was sure the boat had gone I returned to our camping place, and +bound my wounds with strips torn off my shirt. Then I fell asleep. I must +have developed fever in my slumber, for I have no clear recollections of +the next few days. I vaguely recall roaming like a demented being among +those solitudes in search of water, and finding a boiling spring. The +water, when cooled, was drinkable. I suppose that saved my life. For food, +there was shell-fish and mutton-bird eggs, with no lack of boiling water +to cook them. + +"I lived there so long that I forgot the flight of time. I became a wild +man--a mere shaggy animal, living, eating, and sleeping like a beast. + +"I was rescued by a passing steamer at last, rescued without any effort of +my own, for I had gone past caring. From the ship they saw me leaping +about the naked sides of the volcanic hills like a goat, and they put off +a boat. Some lady passengers were badly scared when I was brought +aboard--and no wonder. They were very kind to me on that ship. She was +homeward bound, and brought me to England. I told the captain my story, +but I could see that he didn't believe me, so I told nobody else. Not that +anybody wanted to know--really. One's misfortunes are never interesting to +other people. + +"I had a little money left when I landed in England--not much, but +sufficient to take me to my wife and support me until I found Robert +Turold. I had left my wife living with her parents in a London suburb. +Robert Turold and I had both been in love with her before we left England. +She loved me, but he had some strange kind of influence over her--the +dominance of a strong nature over a weak, I think. Or perhaps it was a +more primitive feminine instinct. He was always the strong man--even +then--ruthless, determined. It was strange that he should have loved such +a gentle timid creature, though that, perhaps, was not so strange as a man +like Robert Turold loving any woman. But love her he did. + +"She had a great capacity for affection--she was one of those women who +have to love, and be loved. Her guileless face, her appealing eyes, seemed +to beseech the protection of a masculine shield in a world which has no +mercy for the weak. She was born to be guided, to be led. It was my fear +of her simple trustful disposition which led me to urge her to marry me +secretly before I left England with Turold. Her parents did not favour me, +and they wished their daughter to marry well--there was an aunt from whom +she had expectations, and the aunt had a prospective husband in view for +her. I feared their joint influence. She consented willingly enough; she +was easy to persuade--on the eve of our parting. She clung to me +weeping--her husband. + +"I was to make enough money to return to England to claim her in a year or +so--that was the plan. But I had been absent nearly three when I was left +on the island. And another twelve months passed before I reached England +again. Four years! A long time. Almost any combination of circumstances +can be brought about in such a period. People die, marry, or can be +forgotten as though they had never existed. It was my lot to be forgotten. + +"I hastened to London, to my wife's old home, and learnt that the family +no longer lived there. Where had they gone to? The maid who opened the +door could not tell me--she did not know. At my request she went for her +mistress. The lady of the house came down to me, a tall slender woman, +indifferent, but well-bred enough to be polite. She had taken the house +from the Bruntons, she said. It was too large for them after their +daughter's marriage. It was dusk, and she could not see my face, but she +heard my startled exclamation--'Married? To whom?' To a Mr. Turold--a very +suitable match. They had been married for some months, and she was +expecting a child. + +"How she gathered that last piece of information I do not know. Perhaps +she and Mrs. Brunton exchanged letters--women write to one another on the +slightest pretexts. That thought made me cautious. Fortunately, I had not +given my name. I thanked her, and rose to go. She offered to write down +the Bruntons' address for me (they had gone to live in the country), but I +said I could remember it. And I got away from the house in the gathering +darkness without her actually seeing my face--not that it would have +mattered much, if she had. + +"I thought it all over that night. I visualized readily enough what had +happened. Robert Turold, returning to England with some concocted story of +my death, had swept her off her feet, caught her on the rebound. He had +returned a prosperous man, and doubtless his love-making was reinforced by +Alice's worldly parents and the match-making old aunt. The combination was +a strong one, and I was supposed to be dead. So she married him, without +breathing a word to anybody of her previous secret marriage to me. I +realized that at once. She would be too afraid--left to herself. She would +tell herself that it wasn't worth while--that nobody need ever know now. I +could imagine her twisting her little hands together in apprehension as +she faced the problem--our secret--then gradually becoming calmer as +something whispered in her ear that it was her secret now, and need not be +told. You see, I knew her nature so well. There are many such +natures--gentle souls who shrink from responsibility in a world which, +sooner or later, generally sees to it that we are compelled to shoulder +the burden of our own acts. + +"I was not long in making up my mind. I determined to do nothing. I take +no special credit to myself for that decision. The marriage with Robert +Turold was an accomplished fact, and my belated reappearance upon the +scene would have plunged her in unhappiness. She was about to become a +mother, too. That weighed with me. I loved her far too well to injure her +or her child. It meant letting Robert Turold go free if I remained dead, +but there are other things in life besides money and revenge. Fortunately +the position from the practical point of view was simplified by the death +of my only relative, my uncle, during my absence from England, who had +bequeathed his small property to me--not much, but sufficient for my own +simple needs. + +"I took my uncle's name, the better to conceal my identity, and resumed +the medical studies which had been interrupted by my departure from +England four years before. When I received my degree I searched for a +remote spot where I was not likely to encounter any one who had known me +in my past life, and chose this lonely part of the Cornish coast. And here +I have remained for thirty years. + +"They have not been unhappy years. It was not my disposition to waste my +life by hugging the illusions of the past. My days were occupied walking +long distances to see my patients scattered at distant intervals on this +desolate coast, and my nights I spent in antiquarian and archaeological +studies, which were always a favourite pursuit of mine. It was a hobby +which earned me some local repute in the course of the years, and was +ultimately the means of bringing me face to face with Robert Turold again. +That was the last thing in the world I desired to happen. In the early +years I used to think of him wedded to my wife, and wonder whether he had +succeeded in his great ambition. After a while the memory faded, as most +memories do with the passing of the years. + +"Then the meeting came--six months ago. I heard Flint House was let, +though not to whom. The news did not interest me. But next evening, when I +returned from my rounds, my servant met me at the door with the +information that the new tenant of Flint House was in the consulting-room +waiting to see me. + +"I went in. The tall elderly figure sitting there rose at my entrance and +said: 'Not a patient, doctor--quite another matter.' I started slightly at +the familiar ring to that harsh authoritative voice, but I did not know +who he was until he handed me his card. He had already commenced talking +about that accursed title as he did so, and he did not notice my +agitation. He had come to Cornwall in pursuit of the last pieces of +evidence for his family tree, and some local busybody had told him that I +was versed in Cornish antiquities and heraldry. That piece of information +had brought him to me. He begged for my assistance--my valuable +assistance--in elucidating the last scraps of his genealogy from the +graves of the past. + +"I could have cut him short by laughing aloud--though not in mirth. I had +regained my self-command, for I saw that he had not the slightest +suspicion to whom he was talking. That in itself was not surprising. I had +not recognized him. And how much greater was the change in my own case! +Time alters us all in a much less period than thirty years, and there was +more than the passage of time. Those months of horrible solitude on that +island had changed me into an old man in appearance, with grey hair, and +bleared and weak eyes from the sulphur fumes. And Time had made the +disguise impenetrable in the thirty added years. I was an old man. My hair +and beard were white, and I wore thick glasses. I felt I need be under no +apprehension of Robert Turold recognizing me--then, or at any time, unless +I was careless. + +"His request for my help had a strange fascination for me. There was an +uncanny thrill in sitting there within an arm's length of him, meeting his +unsuspicious glance, and listening to him with the knowledge that I could +have put his plans and ambitions to flight with a single word, and had him +begging for mercy. I was in the position of Providence, and withheld my +hand, as Providence generally does. My desire to punish Robert Turold had +long since died. At sixty, revenge is a small thing. What is human +retribution to the ferocity of Time's revenge on us all? Retribution and +Justice--these are human catchwords, signifying nothing. What is Justice? +Who is to judge when the scales are even? It was easier to comply with his +request than arouse suspicion by refusal, but that wasn't what weighed +with me. I wanted to see more of him, to win his confidence, if possible. +I was curious to know what kind of life he had given the woman for whose +sake I had let him go free for thirty years. + +"He took a liking to me. My knowledge of ancient Cornish lore proved +useful in the final stages of his search--his thirty years' search for a +family tree. It was not long before I discovered that he had found no +happiness in life. At times his face wore a hunted look--the look of a man +who walked his days in fear. His imperfect vision peered out on a darkened +world with apprehension, though not of me. In my strange position with him +I felt like a ghost permitted to watch, unseen and unsuspected, the +travail of a gloomy solitary mind. It was apparent enough, but only to me. +My quickened eyes pierced the outward husk and saw within. I thought I had +outlived my desire for revenge, but it grew again at the sight of a +punishment which was so much more subtle than anything I could have +planned. Death would have put his restless soul to sleep, granted him +eternal respite. The sufferings of the spirit were a living torment. His +was a strange case. His lifelong pursuit of a single idea, his restricted +consciousness of one image, had made him morbid, lonely, introspective. +And so the past had revisited him, darkening and disquieting his mind. He +feared shadows, he was haunted by footsteps. + +"Footsteps! I learnt that when he consulted me for sleeplessness. He told +me he used to lie awake at night, imagining he heard footsteps pattering +on the rocks outside. I knew well enough whose footsteps he was haunted +by. I imagined him lying there in that lonely house, sweating with horror, +listening ... listening. He asked me once, did I believe in ghosts? I told +him no, but I said I'd known a case of man returning to life long after he +was supposed to be dead. I related the story--one which had come under my +observation as a medical man. He listened with gnawing lip and pale face, +and from my window afterwards I saw him striding home across the moors, +glancing backwards in the dusk. + +"It was his own fault that he ever heard those footsteps in the way he +feared. He did not play the game, according to our poor conception of what +the game is. If he had done so he would have been quite safe from me. But +there are some things too shocking to be contemplated, even in the worst +of our kind. A man does not give away a woman--that is one of the rules. +Robert Turold put a woman to shame in her coffin. + +"I had kept out of her way, never going to Flint House because I feared +her feminine eyes might be too sharp for me. But she fell ill, and Robert +Turold asked me to attend her. Refusal was impossible, as there was no +other doctor nearer than Penzance. + +"She did not recognize me--at first, but the shock I received when I saw +her left me almost stunned. I had carried her memory through the +years--the image of a pretty slim girl, with brown hair and eyes, and kind +of soft vivacity which was her greatest charm. In her place I found, lying +there, a withered grey woman with dim eyes and broken spirit. God knows +what she had gone through at his hands, but it had destroyed her. + +"It was her death-bed. She was worn out in body and spirit, and had no +strength to rally. She was weeks dying, but her life was steadily ebbing +all that time. It was a kind of slow fever. She was delirious when I first +saw her, and delirious or unconscious, with few lucid intervals, until she +died. And the jargon of her wandering mind was in reality the outpouring +of a tortured soul. It was the title and the family name--always that, and +nothing else. She wasn't well-born enough or sufficiently educated to bear +the title as his wife--it seemed that that fact had been impressed on her +again and again in the long lean years of the search for the family tree. +Let her go away ... go away somewhere quietly with Sisily, and she would +never bother him any more. That was the unceasing burden of her cry, a cry +to which I was compelled to listen with a torn heart. + +"The reserve, the frame of mind, which I wore like armour in Robert +Turold's company I dropped altogether at her bedside. Her lucid intervals +were few, but I was not afraid of her recognizing the old Cornish doctor +with his muffler, his glasses, his shaggy white hair and beard. The daily +sight of her shrunken ageing features reminded me that I had nothing to +fear--that Time had effectually disguised us from each other's +recognition. We were old, we two. Life had receded from us--what had we to +do with its fever, its regrets, its passions and futile joys? The clock +had ticked the time away, the fire was dying out, the hearth desolate and +cold. I was resigned before, I was resigned then. I did what I could for +her, which was little enough. Human progress, such as it is, has been +acquired through the spirit. The body defies us--we have no control over +it. So she died--mercifully unconscious most of the time--and died, as I +had hoped, without the least suspicion of the truth. + +"You cannot faintly imagine the shock of Turold's announcement on the day +of her burial, to me, who had been so arrogantly certain that the secret +was safe. If you remember what took place at Flint House on that occasion +you will recall that it was a question from me which brought the truth to +light. Your brother's answer awakened my suspicions, and made me +determined to find out what he actually knew. He brought out the truth +then, as I've no doubt now he intended to do in any case. + +"The puzzle to me was the exact extent of his knowledge. He knew two +things for certain. One was that I had married Alice before leaving +England, and the other was that I was still alive. But he obviously did +not know that I was Remington. How had he found out the two facts? I +guessed that the woman he believed to be his wife had revealed the secret +of her earlier marriage on her death-bed, but the other was a problem +which I could not solve. Nor did I try to. When I reached home I went mad. +The calmness, the self-repression of thirty years, vanished in an instant +in the monstrous infamy of that disclosure. There was something too +horribly sinister in the character of a man who could be driven by +ambition to make such a disclosure without regret, almost without +hesitation. He sacrificed and put to shame two gentle creatures at the +beck of his implacable mania. For the title he had forfeited tenderness, +pity, decency--all the human attributes--with a brazen and unashamed face. +That man walked the earth alone. By that act he set himself apart, defying +all laws, all feeling--everything. + +"As I grew calmer I reflected that he could not defy me. I could bring him +tumbling from his lofty perch with a few words. He might brazen out his +attitude to the whole world, but not to me. What was more, I could dictate +to him--could keep his mouth shut with a threat of reviving the past, of +putting him on his trial for robbery and attempted murder thirty years +before. + +"I determined to do it--to see him and reveal myself, and let him know +that my own course of action would be decided by his. If he chose to keep +silent, he would have nothing to fear from me. + +"I set out across the moors in the darkness. It was raining, and I walked +fast until Flint House loomed out of the blackness before me. Then I +paused to consider my course of action. I was about to thwart a madman +with a fixed idea, in a lonely house where he had in his service another +man who could be depended on to make common cause against me when he knew +the truth. I was not afraid of Robert Turold, but I was of Thalassa. I +knew he was strong enough to hurl me through the window into the sea. +These elements in the situation called for caution. I crept across the +rocks towards the kitchen window. As I did so I thought I saw a figure +move among the rocks, and I ran quickly to the narrow lip of cliff which +overhangs the sea at the back of the house. There I stood for awhile, but +could hear nothing but the sea raging far down beneath me. I came to the +conclusion that I had been mistaken. Who was likely to be prowling round +Flint House in a storm--except myself? I crept round the side of the house +and looked through the kitchen window. + +"Thalassa's wife was in the kitchen, alone, with some playing cards spread +out on the table in front of her. But before long the door leading into +the passage opened, and Thalassa came in. He sat down, but after the lapse +of a few minutes he rose from his chair and approached the window. I +shrank back into the shadow of a rock, watching him. He stood looking out +into the darkness for perhaps five minutes, then I saw him start, turn his +head, and go out of the room. I heard the front door open, followed by the +sound of footsteps ascending the stairs. A moment later I heard the murmur +of voices in Robert Turold's room upstairs. + +"I went nearer to try and find out what had happened, but it was no use. I +could see a gleam of light in the study window, and could hear Robert +Turold's voice mingled with feminine tones, then--silence, followed once +more by the sound of an opening door. From my place of concealment I saw +two people going down the garden path--Thalassa and a female figure. They +passed through the gate and vanished into the darkness of the moors. + +"My opportunity had come. I went to the house and tried the front window. +It was unlocked, and yielded. I got through, and went quickly upstairs. A +light was shining underneath the study door. I opened it, and saw Robert +Turold sitting at his table writing with his back towards me. + +"At the sight of that atrocious scoundrel sitting there immersed in his +shameful project against a woman I had loved, my self-control gave way +utterly, completely. I had intended to be calm, to reason with him, to +exact my terms with a cold logical brain. I did none of these things. +Without a word of warning, before he even knew I was in the room, I sprang +on him, clutching him, shaking him in a blind insensate fury till my +strength suddenly failed me and left me sick and giddy. + +"'I am Remington,' I said--'Jim Remington.' I leaned against the table, +panting and exhausted, looking at him. His self-control was something to +marvel at. He just sat still, returning my look with cold motionless eyes, +no doubt trying to discern the features of the man he had wronged through +the film of age. But in spite of his self-control I could see the grey +pallor of fear creeping into his face, and he could not keep his lips from +trembling. Twice he essayed to speak, but his mouth refused to utter the +words. What he did say was strange to me, when he got it out at last. 'I +was right'--I heard him whisper, almost to himself--'I knew, I knew.' He +repeated those words several times. It was then I saw that his +self-control arose from the fact that although he was terrified he did not +appear to be so greatly surprised. Surprised he was, but not in the way I +had expected. His prime difficulty seemed to be to get out of his head the +identity by which he had known me. 'You are Ravenshaw--Dr. Ravenshaw,' he +said. 'How can you be Remington?' He brought out this with an effort, like +a man trying to shake off an unreasoning horror. + +"I had expected him to face it out, to challenge me, perhaps deny all +knowledge of my existence. Instead, he merely sat there staring at me with +an air of terrified realization, like a person gazing upon the dreadful +materialization of an expected phantom. I told him the truth in the fewest +possible words, and he listened silently, never removing his eyes from me, +the phantom of his past. When I had finished he lay back in his chair, but +his eyes stared up at me with a kind of dead look, like half-closed eyes +in a coffin. 'I knew that you were rescued from the island,' he said. 'But +I thought you were long since dead.' + +"That statement surprised me. I asked him how he had learned of it. He +told me it was through the medium of an overheard conversation in a London +hotel nearly thirty years before. He had gone up to town to see his +lawyer, and one of the people at the hotel where he put up happened to be +one of the passengers of the _Erechtheus_, the steamer which had +rescued me. The man sat at the next table, and Turold heard him tell the +story to a friend one night at dinner. It had happened just like +that--quite simply, but it was a possibility I had overlooked. Not that it +mattered, as it happened, but it would have--if Alice had been with him. +Turold, of course, kept his knowledge to himself. He was too cautious to +approach the passenger, but he instructed his lawyer to make guarded +inquiries at the shipping office of the vessel in order to verify the +story. Then he returned home, consumed by anxiety, no doubt, to wait for +my reappearance. As the months slipped past and I did not appear, hope +revived within him. It appears that he had heard the passenger say that I +was a wreck--a physical wreck. That must have been a cheering item in a +bad piece of news. I can imagine its growing importance in Turold's mind +as the time went on and I made no sign. Finally (and thankfully) he +reached the conclusion that I was indeed dead, and that he had nothing +more to fear. There was an element of uncertainty about it, though, a lack +of definite knowledge. I fancy that was one of the reasons which led him +to take Thalassa into his service when he turned up some time later. It +was a deep and subtle thing to do. Thalassa was bound to help him against +me, if ever I came back. + +"The years went on, and he grew quite certain, as any man in his position +would, in the circumstances. He forgot all about me. That frame of mind +lasted until he came to Cornwall, and then, it seemed, I came back into +his life in the strangest way. I haunted him in the spirit, and he never +once guessed that I might be there in the flesh. Who can explain this? + +"As he spoke of it he looked as though he had a grievance against me, as, +perhaps, he had--from his point of view. 'You faded from my mind for +twenty years,' he said. 'But here--in Cornwall--your memory began to haunt +me. It was your footsteps, principally. I used to fancy you were following +me across the moors. Tonight for the first time I actually heard +them--heard them above the noise of the storm. They came to my ears clear +and sharp, around the house, on the rocks, under the window.' He cast on +me an appalled, a hopeless glance. 'Why have you left it so long?' he +cried. 'What do you want--now?' + +"He positively had no glimmering of my feelings. His fixed idea, like a +cancerous growth, had sucked all the healthy life out of him. Hot anger +stirred within me again, but I retained control of myself this time. I +asked him how he had found out about the earlier marriage, and he told me +Alice had babbled something in her delirium--enough to arouse his +suspicions. It seemed that he had waited for one of her lucid intervals, +and wormed the truth out of her. 'The proofs--of course you've obtained +them?' I asked casually. Yes, he had the proofs. He had sent to London for +them immediately. I asked him where they were. 'What do you want to know +for?' he asked in an agitated voice. I told him quite simply, that he must +give me his proofs and tell the members of his family that he had been +mistaken--that Alice's first husband had really died before she married +him. If he agreed to do that he had nothing farther to fear from me--I +would remain dead forever. 'You can destroy proofs, but not facts,' he +muttered in reply to this. I told him the facts were never likely to come +to light if he entered into a compact of silence. + +"He sat for a few moments as if contemplating the alternatives I had +placed before him--sat with one hand in his table-drawer, seeking for +papers, I thought. He desisted from doing this, and said quite suddenly, +'The proofs are in the clock-case.' + +"I had no suspicion. He had once shown me a curious receptacle in the +bottom of the clock-case, where he kept papers. I went towards the clock, +and was stooping over the drawer in the bottom of the case when I heard a +swift footstep behind me. I turned. He was approaching with a revolver. +The secret of his disclosure and the open drawer were explained. I suppose +I owed my life to his dim sight, which compelled him to come so near. + +"I sprang at him, and we struggled. That struggle brought down the clock +with a shattering crash. Robert Turold and I were locked in one another's +arms, wrestling desperately for the revolver, when I saw the great moon +face of the clock flit past my vision like the face of a man taking a +header off a pier. The crash startled Robert Turold. His hand loosened, +and I got the revolver from him. As I tore it from his fingers it went +off, and shot him. + +"He backed away from me with a kind of frozen smile, then crumpled up and +slid to the floor. I bent over him. He made a slight movement, but I could +see that he was dying--that he had only a very few moments to live. + +"Coolly and rapidly I reflected. The fall of the clock would be heard +downstairs. Flight! There was a chance, if Thalassa had not returned. My +other instinct was to secure the proofs first, though they were really +useless then. I rummaged in the clock-case, and found a large envelope +which I stuffed in my pocket. The face stared up at me; the clock had +stopped at a minute to nine. I had an idea--an inspiration. I pulled the +long hand down to the hour-half--to half-past nine. If I escaped from the +house undiscovered, with only that half-stupid little woman downstairs, I +would rush across the moors home--call my servant on some pretext as soon +as I got in, and ask her the time. Then I should be quite safe--could defy +everybody. Make it ten o'clock, then! No--too long to be safe. It might be +discovered. + +"It is strange how quickly the brain works when the instinct of +self-preservation is aroused. These thoughts flashed through my mind in a +kind of mental lightning. In the briefest possible space of time I was on +my feet and out of the room. I locked the door on the outside, intending +to take the key to defer discovery, but it slipped from my fingers in my +haste, and fell in the dark passage. I dared not stop to search, for just +then I heard a sound--or thought I did. Panic seized me. I feared I was +trapped--my escape cut off. I flung precaution aside and went leaping +downstairs to the door. I fumbled for the door-catch in the darkness, +flung open the door, and ran out into the night--across the moors and +home. + +"I had hardly got inside before your sister came with her husband to see +me--to beg me to go with her to Flint House and reason with your brother. +To reason with him! He was beyond the futility of argument, the folly of +retort. I did not want to go--at first. Then it dawned upon me that a +kindly fate offered me a providential chance of securing my safety. No +suspicion could fall on me if I went back--and found the body. + +"And so it turned out. We reached Flint House just at the right moment, +for me. I broke into the room and found him--dead. He was not where I had +left him. In a last paroxysm he had struggled to his feet and fallen +across the clock-case, with the intention, as I shall always believe, of +putting back the hand of the clock. I think his dying vision saw me alter +it, and his last thought--his last effort--was to thwart my intention to +mislead those upon whom would devolve the duty of investigating his death. +But death was too quick to allow him to carry out his intention." + +The cessation of the speaker's voice was followed by silence. Thalassa had +nothing to say--no need for words. Austin Turold could not trust himself +to speak. It was not that his cynical philosophy of life failed him at +that moment. The eternal staging of the drama was the eternal tragedy of +the performers. But he was thinking of his son. He had vision enough to +realize that in Sisily's death Charles had lost all. His own hardness of +outlook melted at that thought. It crumbled his worldliness to ashes, +flooded his heart with vain regret, found utterance at last in the +whispered words-- + +"How am I to tell my son?" + +His eyes, dwelling on the door of the inner room, revealed the direction +of his thought. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MOON ROCK*** + + +******* This file should be named 12509-8.txt or 12509-8.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/1/2/5/0/12509 + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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